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

14

"Many a year has old Gaerion ferried the Blue River."

"What happened to the bridge?" Aglahad said. I wasn't sure if he was showing interest out of politeness.

"Destroyed it was, back in the days of the wars. Trolls from the north. The great flood washed away the rest." He hauled the rope for a while but then broke his own silence. "Many strange faces around these days," he said. "Not Elfkind. Orcs I have seen and Giants."

Lóni leaned into his brother. "Are all Elves of Lindon half-crazed?" He thought I hadn't heard.

But Aglahad was walking towards the ferryman. "Giants, you say?"

"Or Giants with the likeness of orcs. Strange days, strange days indeed. Dragons I have seen over the mountains these past weeks."

"Dragons?" I sighed. I was starting to lose my patience with old Gaerion. "There have been no Dragons in Lindon since the Elder Days."

"And yet I have seen them. Cold drakes flying over the old Dwarven ruins."

"If there ever was a Dragon," Lofar scoffed, "it is long since dead."

"You hope," jibed Lóni.

"Perhaps it is the Eagles you have seen," I said. "I have heard it said that they venture to Ered Luin at times."

"No Eagles these." Again, he hauled the rope in silence. Aglahad looked out across the river, stroking Bronweg's neck. He turned back towards the ferryman when he started to speak again.

"Many fine weapons on board today. Soldiers and adventurers, these. In times past I ferried pilgrims to Mount Rerir. Makes me wonder why anyone would want to cross the river these days."

Lofar turned towards him. "Our affairs are our own, ferryman. We did not pay you for idle chatter. Just pull the rope."

"Gaerion meets few travellers these days. And is glad for any company he can find. I meant no offence, master Dwarf. Time was when I ferried the great and good of Lindon to Evendim. When Annúminas was at its greatest. You are fortunate that I was on the East Bank of the River. I try to stay in Lindon if I can. Now the Lost Realm is a wild land full of wild people."

"I cannot remember asking you for your opinion of my countrymen." Finduilas spoke flatly without turning her head.

"Ai! She speaks!"

I tried to diffuse the heightening tension: "Have we said or done something to offend you, ferryman?"

"Sometimes Gaerion speaks from the heart, sometimes from the head. Now, he speaks what he sees. A vagabond. A lesser sire of greater Men. Wanderers in the Wild."

"What ails you?" Finduilas snapped.

"Nothing ails me, brigand."

Finduilas finally turned and started towards him but Gaerion grabbed her wrist. She cried out as she pulled her hand away then pushed the ferryman into the haul-rope, drawing her knife. Gaerion almost toppled overboard but found his footing and turned quickly, knife in hand. At once, the others drew their weapons while I tried to knock the blade from the ferryman's hand with my staff. Finduilas blocked an unexpected fist before leaning back from a wide sideswipe of his blade.

Lóni ran towards her as she grappled with the ferrymen. She seemed to have the upper hand but then she jumped away, pressing her hand against her cheek. Aglahad lunged forward and extended Bregedúr out to Gaerion's throat. Gaerion leered at him then bent backwards over the haul-rope. His lithe body at once took on a serpentine form as the straw hat tumbled into the water. Aglahad stepped back in wonder but Lofar was unfazed: he threw his hand axe at the changing form but by the time it struck the guidepost the skin-changer was in the river.