Rhionne BW XXXI

Rhionne dreamt that he was in the middle of a small room, no more than a parlour, which was lit by a dirty, partly-hooded lantern placed on a solid black-oak table, next to an orb that emitted a swirling, dancing mixture of dim light in shades of purple and hues of lilac. The ceiling was high, vaulted granite, stained with the black carbon residue from the lantern ten feet below. The floor, by contrast, was highly polished basalt that reflected the dim purple light of the orb and the yellow-grey of the lantern.

From somewhere behind Rhionne a thin, scratchy voice asked, “Well Inwë, what do you have to say?”

In response, the orb’s intensity increased and the swirling mass of purple shades coalesced into a pale purple glow, “Of course,” a female’s voice replied, “we would appreciate all the assistance you can offer to ensure our position is not put at risk.” The face that appeared through the mist in the orb was a hauntingly beautiful drow elf, whose pale skin was accentuated by dark purple and black make-up.

“And you would be prepared to pay the price?” The voice from behind the Ranger was almost a whisper, carried on the still, heavy air.

“My forces are at your disposal; your masters know that.” The elf’s confidence was clear, although she failed to hide a fleeting look of regret.

“What of your champion?” The whisper asked suddenly as if the voice struck a blow.

“Aaah, that is a little more difficult.” Inwë’s gaze dropped from the orb, as if she were a naughty child who had finally been caught stealing. Sensing the ‘blow’ found its mark the voice continued its challenge, “How so?”

“He is with my Lady,” she replied, a dreamy look coming into her eyes before her gaze returns to the orb, darker this time.

“Ah, that explains much;” the hiss grew louder as if it origin approached Rhionne, “do you have someone to command your army at Caladhon?”

“Clearly not!” The elf’s angry reply threatened to destroy the orb and anything beyond.

“May I be of assistance?” The voice asked in a reassuring and quiet tone offsetting well the echo of Inwë’s displeasure.

“You?” She asked, adopting a slightly mocking lilt, cocking her head to one side as if she had not fully understood.

“Why not?” The voice sounded strangely hurt, “I have already delivered Sutur; Caladhon will prove no more difficult.”

“Yes, of course, you have experience of the old paths into Ishtur.” Motherly she became, as if calming a petulant child.

The voice rose sharply, “I have experience of much Inwë;” clearly, not one to be patronised it continued, “would it not make sense for me to lead our combined strength against the men of Gorgoroth before we face the Jackal?”

“Or I just stay hidden and wait for you to chase away the troublesome dog…” she mocked.

“Or perhaps, Inwe, I reveal your hiding place and retreat into mine…” The threat was real enough.

“Alright Dark Wolf, you have convinced me.” Inwë’s laugh was genuine, “Crushing the youngest of Gorgoroth will be simple compared to the more ancient threat.”

“What know you of White Star’s Artefacts?” in pressing home its advantage the voice took on a conspiratorial tone.

“Little; and you?” The lie was obvious – too obvious.

“We both know that they are near you; the bearers seek to destroy you and retrieve their friend, do they not?” The owner of the voice was impatient: it was not the time to play these games.

“Some are close I understand, what happened to the female half-breed? Did you let her slip away?” Inwë, it would seem, never tired of games – any opportunity to belittle.

“You really do not know, Inwë?” it was the voice’s turn to mock.

Rising to the challenge, the Drow replied, “If you know something more than that she slipped through your grasp like water and disappeared into the earth, then prey tell Dark Wolf.”

“She has travelled to the ancient source,” the voice replied, confidence returning in abundance, “we let her go.”

“Did you now?” Inwë looked quizzical – was this a lie? She pressed, unblinking, “Have you influenced her to close the old gate?”

“That would be in our mutual interest would it not?” came the reply.

The acknowledgement of how difficult this must have been was shown on Inwë’s appreciative face. However, her expression changed slowly as she considered the implications, “Provided the Gate does not emerge somewhere else more troubling.”

“I am not one of your acolytes, Inwë!” the voice rebuked her. She had clearly not thought this through, “I know the dark crafts as well as you.”

“Of course; so long as this is in our mutual interest.” Inwë’s defence was weak; this was something she had clearly not known.

The voice was quick to seize the advantage, “When you destroy the simpletons that try to wield the ancient powers, let me know; I would pay handsomely for their jewels.”

Wrong footed momentarily, Inwë gathered herself, “Yes, so would many others.” Realising this might insult, she continued, “Let’s not be hasty; we can discuss terms once we have Caladhon.”

“It would be most unwise of you to seek to align yourself with others; Tuar Chan was merely a puppet of a greater power…” no veil masked the menace in this threat.

“Who you still serve, do you not Dark Wolf?” The question seemed genuine enough but it was designed to unbalance – another point scored.

“I have no master save my own power of self-preservation,” came the unguarded, weak response, “something you need to learn quickly before you move to your Lady’s dreadful halls.”

“Do you merely seek the artefacts, Wolf, or is there something else you desire – freedom perhaps?” Inwë taunted happily.

“Keep your thoughts to yourself Inwë - my desires are my own - there is nothing for you here.” The voice quickly returned to its threatening, malevolent tone.

“Of course…You may lead my Army,” Inwë’s voice became serious and her expression showed the determination of one utterly resolved to a course of action, “but first I ask you to discover the bearers of the artefacts you relish. They are in the deepest halls of Ishtur and have knowledge of the ancient paths.”

“That would be my pleasure my Lady, you occupy the Gnomes and I’ll find the thieves!”

In the dark, Rhionne’s mind was troubled by voices; firstly, that of Inwë - the drow elf whose face he had seen in the orb - and, secondly, a man’s voice similar in tone and pronunciation to his new friend, Takeda.

“Well, my friend, Sutur is ours but at quite a price,” the female’s voice began, “Orcus failed to secure Fontainver as you promised and is off on a fool’s errand, and the second born have defeated Demogorgon at Minas Morgul. This is not how I thought our alliance would benefit us both.”

“No and it all started with the death of Tuar Chan after Milai was allowed to escape,” came the heavily accented response, “and I now hear that you have let the cursed Samurai escape as well.”

“Really?” her pitch and intensity rose sharply, “Did it not start with your attempted alliance with Orcus and the subjugation of his minion - Dordraug?”

“Or was it your deranged pursuance of the conversion of the Sylvan Elf that unhinged us?”

“Who is now on the Prime doing my work in your land!” she almost screamed, before calming somewhat, “Look, what do you intend to do now? You have dispatched my forces in pursuit of the dwarves and led your own in an attempt to destroy the elves of Efferendil. With Orcus gone, you must hold the balance of power in Amorsland.”

“True; your help against the dwarves is most appreciated,” the male voice conceded. “They have broken the siege and scattered the enemy back to the North. The Sylvan scum have fled to Farass and I will drive them all towards Vorsay, where they will encounter our combined strength.”

“Led by our new Champion…” the elf pressed firmly, “You will subordinate your forces to him?”

“That is our Lady’s will; he will have command.” The tone sounded begrudging, “the Gith may be less convinced but, with the loss of Grasgal, they might be persuaded.”

“Then my elves return to Everinstar or do you intend to complete what you started at Fontainver?”

“I propose that we take each bastion of power in turn, starting with Efferendil. I will need your help prising your cousins from their lair. Then we move South and engulf the entirety of Amorsland before turning our attentions back to the Sea-witch’s hovel.”

“And of the Gates?” the elf asked.

“I will use them when I can; not all can be moved without disrupting our plans in the East.”

“Yes, care is needed I agree, but there is one – in Efferendil – that we should seek to control.”

“That is why I need your army – the Sylvan elves have hidden it well – even from Orcus.”

“Yes, it was a shame that he killed the only one who knew how to manipulate the Gate; never mind, we will learn.”

“Your Champion hails from there, does he not?”

“Yes and he once had the heart of the Princess who leads the elves against you…”