The End of Times. - 2. The Quest is Revealed.

Every evening the old man occupied the same table at the rear of the tavern. He ate his bowl of gruel and sat a while, before retiring to his room. It had been the same for over a month now. Eamar served his supper, smiled, and left the man in peace. In Talmon, on the shores of the Sea of Rhûn, you did not ask questions. Everyone minded their own business. There were people from near and far. Here you could listen to tales and tall stories. You could believe what you heard, or not. But you must keep a keen eye and your wits about you. If not you might be found floating in the sea, or lying washed up on the shore.

Eamar had come across that sea and through the desert beyond. He was taken captive years before and spent his early life in that city which legend named, but no one believed existed. How ironic, that he found himself back in the land of his birth, with a history people would only think was fiction.

It was often cold here. Although the hearth of the tavern and the free flowing ale, warmed the denizens each night. Disputes and fights would erupt, but Eamar would side step, and retreat. He left Muckold, the owner, built like an ox, to barge in with his cudgel. Usually, that was all it took to eject the drunken rabble-rousers.

The old man wore that typical thick woollen coat with deep pointed hood, that was customary with travellers, but not with sailors. It was in shades of dark brown, lines of long since faded coloured thread running through the cloth. The edges of the hood were threadbare. He was a person who easily faded into the background. Only Eamar paid the old man any attention. Curiosity drew him to ponder over who he must be waiting for. Eamar was shrewd enough to know he was not there without reason.

Eamar had been abducted when just seven years of age. He hardly remembered his parents, or the village he was from. Neither did he have any clear recollection of the journey. Certain it was difficult and long. He remembered only his life in Assakia, that city of legend, of which people questioned the very existence. But he knew it was real. As real as the endless desert that surrounded it. He had become a slave the moment he was taken, but apart from that one thing, he had been treated well.

That night as the fire roared, its flames dancing and waving as if in tune with the music, something happened. It would change once more his destiny. There was a raucous cacophony of drunken sailors; loud voices and shouting, all mixed with the rhythm of the drums. A band of musicians were entertaining the packed tavern. It was an atmosphere at once joyous and at the same time mysterious. Though most of those present were too intoxicated to appreciate the music. Not so the old man. He leant forward to speak as Eamar was removing his empty bowl and refilling his tankard.

“This is the rhythm of the forest, the sound of the earth!”

The old man stared into his eyes and Eamar could see in their depth that this was no ordinary man who had been sitting each night in the corner of the tavern.

“You have been marked.”

He stretched out an arm and clasped his hand around Eamar’s wrist. Holding him tightly, pulling him down towards those staring eyes.

“You have been cut!”

He made the statement as if he needed Eamar to confirm what he already knew. As if he wanted Eamar to voice what was to this man, self-evident. Eamar was shocked. Unable to speak. The sounds of the tavern faded as the drum beats intensified. All he could do was nod.

“It's what they do to the abeed. I am sorry for you.”

He had used the word, slave, you would say in the local language, but abeed was the Berber word. So he knew. The noise of the revelry returned in the same instant the old man released his grip. Eamar averted his eyes, stood up, turned and left. Weaving his way through the crowd, his mind racing with thoughts.

That night asleep in his cot he remembered in his dream what had happened. Of course he never forgot, it was just put to the back of his mind. But that night he relived the moment his life almost ended. It was as vivid as the day it occurred. They called him a physician, but it was butchery. The boys were cut, each in turn. Their pain relieved only by the draft they had been given. True, they felt nothing at the time, but later the dull ache would persist. Even return from time to time for no reason.

□□□□□

Nearly a week passed after that incident. It took all his force for Eamar to speak to the old man. For once, the crowds were absent. It was a quiet night, with only a few people spread out at tables; drinking, eating, and talking. The atmosphere was very different, a calm solitude seemed to engulf the tavern.

“How did you know?” Eamar did not look directly at the old man. He almost whispered his question as he served the hot stew. It was rabbit. The smell wafted up with the steam.

“I knew.”

That was all he said. Eamar was about to leave him to eat.

“I am Eönwë, the herald of Manwë and Chief of the Maiar.”

“My Lord,” Eamar was stunned, but managed a slight bow of the head. An acknowledgement of the status of the person before him. Because this old gentleman was no mere mortal, he possessed the soul of the spirit world.

Eamar was not ignorant when it came to knowledge of the world beyond the seeing of human eyes, but he did not know all. Eönwë could walk through the world unseen; take the form of an elf, a human, or another creature. Rarely did such a being allow themselves to be seen. But exceptional times call forth action. Though no one yet knew it, the future was in peril.

“Sit with me a moment whilst I partake this delicious stew.”

So commanded, Eamar could not refuse. He pulled up a chair and sat down at the table, trembling slightly.

“I mean you no harm, my friend.”

Eönwë's voice was smooth and deep. Somehow reassuring. It calmed Eamar's jitters, he relaxed slightly. The old man set himself to eating. Saying nothing more, only occasionally glancing at Eamar between mouthfuls. Finally, he had finished. Taking the last piece of bread which rested on the table, he scoured the bowl clean. Pushing the empty vessel aside, he lifted and drank from the tankard.

“Strangers will be arriving from the west.” Eönwë looked straight at Eamar, who was fixed by his stare.

“I have a request to make of you.”

Eamar nodded.

“You will recognise these men. They bring with them slaves. Human boys, they will take with them back to your city.”

“My city?”

“Assakia.”

Eamar nodded his head, thinking to himself, ‘how does he know where I am from?’

“They are pursued, these Berber slavers. Followed closely by four men.”

Eamar was now wondering what Eönwë would have him do.

“The four are; two warriors, a scribe, and his apprentice. They would free the boy slaves and return them to their villages, but you must not let that happen.”

“But...”

Before he could speak Eönwë held up his hand.

“You will find a way. The slavers want passage across the sea to the eastern shore. You know the sailors, the ships, and their captains.”

Eamar considered for a moment. It was true, of course, he knew most of the boats and the crews that passed through.

“You can facilitate their passage. You will find how. Then I will follow with their pursuers.”

“But why would you want me to help slavers? If you know who I am, you know my own history. I was such a boy, taken into slavery.”

“Yes. And now, my friend, your time has come. You will join us, go back to the city you know so well.”

The blood literally drained from his face. Never had the thought crossed his mind that having escaped he would one day return to that city.

“Your knowledge is needed, Eamar.”

It was almost as if this near god like spirit sitting across the table from him, could read his mind. He spoke, addressing Eamar's questions and concerns before they were even voiced.

“There is much more at stake than a few boys lives.”

Eönwë learnt across the table.

“I am seeking the jewel.”

The old man cupped a hand around his mouth next to Eamar's ear.

“Goldamîr,” he whispered. In case there was any doubt.

□□□□□

“They are heading to Talmon,” Aerandir told the others. “Of that I am certain. We don't need to track them. We will go there and await their arrival.”

“Then what?” Johan asked.

Eldon gave the boy a stern look, as if to tell him not to ask questions. But Aerandir simply smiled and ruffled the boy's hair.

“Then we shall free the boys and take them home with us.”

Johan wanted to ask how, but he dare not pose another question. It was not his place.

“I don’t think that will be easy.” It was Eldon who asked the question in a roundabout fashion. At the same time tapping his pipe and lighting the little bowl. As he brought the long stem to his mouth, he drew on the fire. Took a breath, puffed out a little cloud of pale smoke, and glanced sideways at Aerandir.

“We'll figure that out when the time comes.”

After the old forest road it was still a long way to the sea. Aerandir considered whether the slavers would follow the river or go overland towards the Iron Hills and follow the smaller River Carmen. Either way, it didn't matter, they were certain to beat them to Talmon.

□□□□□

“Do you think they will come after us?” Hamdi was seeking reassurance.

“They won’t cross the river, but neither will they turn back.” Rasheeq looked over at Naaji, then turned to Hamdi. “They won’t go home without their kin.”

“We should find a boat when we reach the village.” Naaji would prefer to flee than have to fight.

“And with what do we pay the passage?”

“With the smallest boy. They'll take a boy for the passage, of that I’m sure.” Naaji thought he had a good idea. If his cousin would accept to return home with only five slaves.

“If you're going to bargain a boy for the passage, why did you stop me taking pleasure?” Hamdi moaned.

“Shut up!” Rasheeq raised his voice at the boy. “Your whining and complaining is annoying me. You think only of yourself. Really, I should take my belt to teach you some manners!”

Hamdi ignored the threat, but turned away and kept quiet.