Chapter Forty-eight
The Shrine of the Rose
Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild
"I see you finally decided to return,"
Ganbar told Elfhild amiably after she had caught up with him. "I thought you
were going to stay back there all day."
"Hmph," she muttered, still irritated at Inbir. "If a lowly slave might
speak freely and without fear of punishment," she remarked sweetly, "I would
say that good Master Inbir certainly talks too much."
"What did he want with you?" he asked, arching a bushy black brow in
curiosity.
"Ah, he was just sharing some of his poetry with me," Elfhild replied with a
shrug, hastily putting on an air of casual indifference. "Unfortunately,
some of his lays lose their flavor when translated into Common. Probably due
to the difference in languages, I believe..." She had heard the men praise
Inbir's talents, and she did not wish to be rebuked for criticizing them.
Besides, she just wanted to forget about the whole bizarre incident.
Elffled, who was riding just ahead of her sister, turned her head and shot
the other girl a questioning glance. How could anyone not like Inbir's songs
and poems? Though Elffled had not heard many of them in Common Speech, she
was sure that they would be beautiful and sensual in any language. "Elfhild
would insult Inbir's poems just for spite, for he is a Southron," she
thought sullenly.
Though Ganbar observed the angry sparks in Elffled's eyes, he ignored the
hostile exchange of glances between the two slave girls. Long ago he had
learned that slaves were often petty, harboring unreasonable jealousies and
resentments. These conflicts would sometimes grow so intense that fights
could break out between two rivals, with the result being injuries
everywhere from bites and scratches to outright murder. Fortunately, the two
girls whom he owned had been able to settle their differences... at the
urgings of his whip, he thought with satisfaction. However, the slaves of
another were of no concern to him. Letting Elffled stew, Ganbar looked down,
admiring with pleasure the dark mane of his roan mare and the dappling on
her sides.
When he finally lifted his gaze, his voice was tinged with amusement.
"Actually, Inbir is an accomplished poet, earning the praises of a number of
people in Nurn and Harad. However, he is an arrogant little pup, full of
himself, and not a bit hesitant to brag about his abilities," he commented
in a too loud voice, knowing that Inbir, who was riding behind, would hear
every word. "Still, in spite of all his faults, slave girl, there is no
better man to have at your back if you run into a spate of trouble. But," he
chuckled, "never let yourself be too impressed with his talents. It makes
his head swell up larger than a sultan's turban."
Elfhild giggled, not fully understanding the reference, but sensing that it
was meant to be humorous. Ganbar smiled and then fell into one of his
infuriating silences. Elfhild began to wonder if he would ever continue with
his account of the standing stone. Growing impatient, she decided to remind
him about the matter. "Master, you were going to tell me about the standing
stone before Master Inbir interrupted us."
"Still on that, are you?" he snapped, his sharp retort startling Elfhild.
"Well, after the constant interruptions from Inbir, I do not know if I am in
the mood to tell you or not." After seething over Inbir's slurs and insults,
Ganbar decided he might as well be angry. That was one way to pass the time
on a dull and uninteresting stretch of road.
"Oh, no, Master Ganbar!" she exclaimed, upset at his churlish reply. "Please
tell me! Perhaps the telling would cheer your mood, or at least make you
forget about Master Inbir."
"Little houri," Ganbar replied gruffly, "there is no way to forget Master
Inbir! His grandiose pretensions make that impossible! But no matter." He
gave her a steely glance. "I am not quite finished questioning you. What
else did my eloquent friend have to say... besides the tedious references to
his own poetry?"
I might as well tell him, she reasoned. "He wanted me to smile. He - he said
he needed inspiration for another song."
"Oh, he did, did he?" Elffled bristled to herself, overhearing every word.
"He never says such things to me. How dare he flirt with my sister!
Why, she is about as entertaining as a squawking magpie with a sore throat!"
Her lower lip trembled and she bit into it vengefully. "Life is so unfair!"
"Oh, he did, did he?" Ganbar guffawed loudly, slapping his hand on his
thigh. "And you, being the unknowing innocent that you are, probably felt so
flattered that you honored his request with one of your most radiant
smiles." Ganbar noticed the hot flush of embarrassment color the girl's
face. "My naive little beauty, you have just been exposed to the arrogant
scoundrel's brand of sarcasm and wit. Though you did not realize it, he
wanted you to pass along that message to me, thinking it would make me
irritated. Of course, you would not understand, but I do." He looked over
his shoulder, almost shouting so that Inbir could hear him. "Is that not
true, O incomparable Master of the Eloquent Verse and Stabbing Humor?"
"I see you have finally recognized my artistry, Ganbar!" came Inbir's reply,
followed by a gusty roar of laughter. "Now tell the poor wench about the
stone before she dies of curiosity, and try not to botch the telling with
your usual bumbling style! Indeed if you do, I will have to tell it myself."
A pleasant smile on his handsome face, he laughed with affected villainy.
"Be silent, you baseborn miscreant!" Ganbar growled venomously. "If I hear
another word out of you, I will cut off your tongue and shove it up your
arse!"
"What an inglorious end for my golden tongue!" Inbir cried out in mock
horror. "But even then, blessed as my tongue is by the Gods, it would
continue to extol the virtues of beauty and art with each flatulent salvo!"
"That is all your poetry is anyway, Inbir! Outbursts of foul wind!" Ganbar
retorted sullenly.
"All right, have it your own way, Ganbar. You are incapable of understanding
art anyway, so my poetry is wasted on a churl like you. I will keep my
silence, and mayhap draw upon you as the inspiration for my next comedic
poem. Perhaps I will make you as famous as Karagöz someday." A disarmingly
innocent smile lit up his handsome, tawny face.
"Inbir, may my vile and profane habits be forgiven," Ganbar remarked
sarcastically. "Now be quiet!"
"Aye, my lord, I am sure they will be, for the Gods always take pity upon
asses and madmen." With a grand flourish, Inbir touched his hand to his
heart and bowed his head.
"Asses and madmen!" A deep frown furrowing Ganbar's brow, he opened his
mouth as though to protest, but then convulsed into laughter. His eyes wet
with tears of mirth, he turned to the slave wench beside him. "Very well,
flower of the snow, I will tell you about the stone."
Finally realizing that she had been the innocent pawn in a game between the
two Southrons, Elfhild pursed her lips in a sullen pout. Though she would
never mention it to anyone, she had decided that Inbir with his sharp,
barbed wit had bested Ganbar in the heated debate. Probably thrilled at his
success, Elffled would be even more smitten with the handsome young Southron
than ever. Elfhild felt a twinge of sympathy for Ganbar, who was not so
clever as his overly literary opponent. She quickly pushed the sentiment
aside, for she was irritated at his reticence in telling her about the
standing stone. "Will he ever stop dragging his feet and just get on with
it?" she grumbled sourly to herself.
Ganbar coughed, clearing his throat, and then pulled a not-so-clean
handkerchief from his sleeve and loudly blew his nose. He was silent for a
moment and then commented, "Well, I finally have the opportunity to tell you
about the stone, and you go quiet on me. Knowing women as well as I do, I
would guess that your flighty mind has wandered away, and you daydream now
of amorous escapades in your lord's bed."
Elfhild turned her head and stared at him, her eyes narrowing. "Master
Ganbar, I am well aware of the low opinion you hold of women, but I also
know how wrong you are in your views. Do you not remember what I told you
earlier? Not all women obsess about such things! But that is not what
troubles me now. I am just frustrated with all these delays."
"Do I remember what you said!" Ganbar exclaimed, shocked at the impertinence
of the slave girl. "How could I ever forget such foolish rambling?" Beneath
his tawny skin, his face reddened with anger. "Slave wenches should never
presume to know more than their masters! Do you forget who and what you are,
or has a djinn possessed your mind?" He looked directly into her eyes as he
scornfully challenged her. "Perhaps you need a reminder." His fingers
lightly brushed the flogger that hung from his belt.
Elfhild's face went pale and her throat constricted painfully. "Forgive me,
Master! I meant nothing by what I said!" She bowed her head deferentially,
hiding the fury that raged deep inside her. "Why must it always be this
way?" she seethed to herself. It was as though an invisible barrier was
erected between masters and their slaves. If a slave dared pass one inch
beyond that line, that unfortunate wretch would find punishment quick and
harsh. Even though the fair-minded Ganbar was kinder in his way, his beliefs
and motives were little different from the other Southern men.
"Of course, you did not know what you were saying, wench," Ganbar told her,
only slightly less severely, "for you are only an ignorant peasant who is
slow in learning our ways." When he shot a sideways glance at her, he
noticed how she trembled slightly, as though she expected at any moment to
feel the bite of the whip on her leg. "How endearing and vulnerable she
looks!" he mused. Perhaps he had been too harsh upon the slave girl. After
all, she was only a delicate mountain flower who had been uprooted from her
native land and transplanted to one strange and alien. He would let her off
with a mild rebuke this time. "Do not cause any more trouble with your
quarrelsome tongue," he admonished her, noting with satisfaction that both
Inbir and Ubri murmured quietly and nodded their heads in assent.
After Elfhild had mumbled, "Yes, Master," Ganbar decided to reward her for
her capitulation by telling her the tale which she had waited almost an hour
to hear. "That tone is much better." He smiled approvingly. "Once you have
gained control over that tongue of yours, you will find that good things
come your way. Now I will tell you about the stone." Having a little
difficulty sorting through all the accounts which he had been told, he
paused a few moments before continuing. "Being a foreigner, I know nothing
for certain about the obelisk, only the stories which people have related to
me. Many maintain that the spire is nothing more than a boundary stone which
delineates the military jurisdiction of Minas Morgul from that of Cirith
Ungol. As you might guess, both garrisons zealously guard what they consider
their territory." He flashed her a lopsided grin. "Not a particularly
interesting explanation is it?"
"Actually, no," she told him, disappointment clouding her face. "All that
sounds rather old and musty." She wrinkled her nose. "When I write my book,
I do not want to tire my readers with discussions of boundary markers and
military policies. I want to tell them something exciting that they will
remember."
"Well," he drawled, "you and that book!" He shook his head. "I do not think
it will ever be written. After you have been sold to some shakh for his
harem, you will be much too occupied pleasuring him ever to have time for
anything else. The best you can hope for is to become the mother of one of
his sons, but do I ever think you will become his favorite? No!" He
appraised her carefully. "You are lovely enough, but no man will put up with
the peculiar ideas you hold." Not liking the defiant look in her eyes,
Ganbar pointed a finger at her, shaking it admonishingly. "You should forget
all this nonsense about reading and instead turn your attention to pleasing
your new master!
"Well, then I do not want to tire my lord with a dull story," Elfhild
retorted with a haughty toss of her head. "If I were the master, I would be
very displeased at a slave who wasted my time with a tiresome tale."
Silent for a while, Inbir's unexpected interruption took them by surprise.
"Ganbar, I think you have underestimated the blonde wench! Although it seems
impossible, there appears to be something more solid than air underneath
that tousled golden mane." Ganbar shot him a hostile stare, which did not
perturb Inbir in the least. Instead, he moved his mount forward until the
animal was beside Elfhild's, with the line of pack animals strung out behind
them.
"Did anyone ask you to ride up here?" Ganbar snarled, his face darkening
threateningly.
"No, my friend, but I thought you were in need of help relating the story to
the girls. You have taken forever with the tale, and I have almost given up
all hope that you will ever finish it!" he replied casually. "Besides, the
view of your skinny arse was not improving the scenery, so I decided to ride
where I did not have to look at it."
"Dammit, Inbir, shut up! You are getting too pompous for your own welfare.
Remember, I have seniority here!" Ganbar's eyes narrowed as his face erupted
in a scowl.
"O Great Master," Inbir bowed his head over and over, his voice agonized,
"this wretched youth will strive to maintain his silence! But for the sake
of the Gods, will you please get on with the story!"
For a few long moments, it seemed as though a dark and ominous thundercloud
hovered over Ganbar's head, but then the storm suddenly broke into a great
swell of laughter. "By the Gods, Inbir, you are right for a change! This
story has gone on far too long." He stroked his chin. "Let me see now...
Perhaps I know another tale which the wench might like better."
Ganbar leaned back in his saddle and beamed. He knew that his next statement
would shock and flabbergast them all. Ah, he would enjoy the surprised,
foolish looks on their faces. "Some say that the standing stone back
yonder," he began in an affected, lofty style, "represents neither a
boundary marker nor a memorial to some long forgotten battle. It is actually
a shrine to a woman!"
"A woman!" repeated Ubri, his voice rising in astonishment. "That is
impossible!" Ganbar's statement was so fantastic that for a moment the
slaver's lieutenant forgot the debt owed to him by the recently executed
Captain of Moskala.
"To a woman?" Elfhild recited incredulously, her eyes widening. She was
astonished that anyone would hold a woman in such high regard in a place as
wretched as this. "Who was she, Master? Do you know?" She cocked her head to
one side and studied Ganbar's face.
"I doubt that anyone knows her name, but probably that is not important
anyway." He shrugged his shoulders. "She was very beautiful, of course, the
way they all are in these legends. More than beauteous, if the stories are
to be believed, and no doubt rivaling the grace and allure of all the love
goddesses of Khand." He chuckled, winking at Elfhild as though they were two
friends sharing some amusing tale. Pausing for a while to remember more
details of the stories which he had heard, he watched in satisfaction as
Elfhild's expressive face registered a mixture of emotions.
Satisfied that he had all the party's attention - except for Esarhaddon, who
was riding too far forward to have heard any of it - Ganbar warmed up to his
story. "The inscription on the stone, now... I know a little bit more about
that. Once when I was in a tavern down in Harad, I met a derelict old foot
soldier, formerly of the Khandian army. After a few drinks on me, he told me
that once he had ridden by the stone and stopped to inspect it up close. You
see, he considered himself something of an expert on Elvish writing, and
thought maybe he could decipher it." The lines around Ganbar's brown eyes
crinkled in a grin. "You could not prove it by me, though. I am only telling
you what I was told. Maybe he did, and maybe he did not. Anyway, the fellow
claimed that he had translated the wording." The Southron unconsciously
smoothed a finger over each side of his mustache as he scanned the trail
ahead.
Elfhild gripped the reins tighter and stared at Ganbar. She had learned that
he found it amusing to irritate her by taking an inordinately long time to
relate one of his tales. Sometimes she felt that she could gleefully
strangle the man, if only that would make him talk faster! She had also come
to realize, though, that nothing she could say or do could make the
obstinate Southron pick up the speed. Though she tried not to become
flustered, her patience failed her when Ganbar fell into one of his
interminably long silences.
"I am waiting, Master Ganbar..." He ignored her. "Please..." She flashed him
a radiant smile that showed off her small, evenly placed teeth to the best
advantage.
"What?" he asked sharply, his eyes riveted on the road ahead.
"Oh, you are so cruel to a poor, wretched slave girl!" she moaned piteously.
"What did I do?" He frowned, his eyebrows almost touching in consternation.
"You are teasing me outrageously, denying me the knowledge of what was
written on the stone! Please, Master Ganbar, do not do this to me! I would
be most happy if you would just tell me the rest of the tale." She gritted
her teeth to keep from lashing out at him.
"Oh, the stone," he replied nonchalantly, as though the matter was so
inconsequential that he had forgotten all about it.
"Yes, the stone," she repeated, her voice dripping with sweetness. "What
words were carved into its surface?"
"Nothing much really," Ganbar stated blandly as Elfhild's spirits sank. "The
old fellow said there were three words written on the stone in an ancient
Elvish language - 'To my beloved.'" He rolled his eyes, obviously doubting
the veracity of the tale. "Did you ever hear of such nonsense!" He laughed
in disgust. "Buy a man a drink and he will tell you anything!" He watched
her face to see if she had caught his humor, but she only smiled politely.
That did not discourage him, though, for by then he was well into his tale.
He seemed to gain new strength from his own unbridled enthusiasm. "If I had
not been told better," his voice dropped to a low, conspiratorial tone, "I
would have wondered if the Wizard in the Tower wrote that about Himself. He
is that vain, or mad, or so they say." Ganbar looked around cautiously,
making the sign against evil behind his back... just to be sure.
Elfhild shivered as a cold feeling of imponderable dread washed over her
senses like a dark, icy wave. Tugging her burnoose around her throat, she
glanced up at the mountains around them, wondering if there were unseen
watchers upon those craggy heights. Not wishing to linger upon thoughts of
the Evil One, she quickly changed the subject. "Master Ganbar, does the
little grove beside the standing stone have a name?"
"Slave girl, you will not be happy until you hear all there is to know about
it, will you?" he laughed amiably. "Well, I will tell you all I know, which
it is not much. In Black Speech, the place is called Taugaz Matum Narmatuga,
the Grove of Undying Death."
A chill ran down Elfhild's spine and she began to tremble. "That is a
horrible name, Master Ganbar!"
"The grove attained that name because there are rumors that it is haunted,"
Ganbar stated matter-of-factly. "But if that name is frightening to you,
little one, there is another name by which the grove is called. I think that
you will find it far more to your liking. Many call it 'The Shrine of the
Rose,' because of the beautiful rosebushes which still grow there to this
day."
"But, Master, I am thoroughly confused," Elfhild interjected, her expression
one of total bafflement. "A beautiful lady... a lovely garden... hauntings?
What happened here?"
"The legends say that peace once reigned in this valley, and all who made
their home here were prosperous and content." He dropped his voice. "Of
course, some will say that the only thing that held this beneficent peace
together was the iron fist of the Morgul Lords. But," he chuckled grimly,
"that is getting into politics, and it is never quite safe to discuss that
here."
Ganbar looked pointedly at Elfhild, as though he expected some reaction, but
when he noted that her expression was one of rapt attention, he only nodded.
What was there to say when there was far too much to comprehend all at once?
He knew that she hung on every word, eager for him to tell her more. This
was not long in coming.
"Over there," he stabbed the air with a finger, pointing in the direction of
a dark, shadowy area beyond the evergreens, "there was once a great garden
filled with roses, both wild and cultivated. The water splashed and played
in a hundred fountains and then cascaded down a series of skillfully
engineered waterfalls. The lady most fair, the concubine of one of the lords
of Dushgoi, often came with her maidens to this spot, where they enjoyed
picnics in the shade of the garden. She came with a great entourage of her
maidens, servants and guards." A faraway look came over Ganbar's eyes.
"There is nothing there now." Squinting, he peered into the trees as though
some haunted glimpse of the beautiful lady and her retinue from long ago
might still linger under the trees. "The spring dried to a trickle many
years ago," he added.
"It sounds very beautiful," Elfhild murmured, trying to imagine how the
grove appeared so long ago.
"It was," Ganbar nodded in agreement, "if you believe the legends, which I
do not always hold in the highest of regard. But you never know." He gave
his shoulders a slight shrug. "Maybe it is true. In any event, war with its
terrible, grim power came to the valley, leaving it nothing but a desolate
wasteland from one side to the other. So complete was the devastation, they
say, that if a crow flew from one end to the other, it would starve to death
because there was nothing to eat.
"As the battles raged down the valley, the city of
Ganbar coughed and reached for his waterskin, and after he had taken off a
long drink, he turned his gaze to Elfhild. "There is more to the legend, and
well aware of your desire to know everything, I will tell you the rest of
it. Sometimes when the night is lighted by a full moon and the air is soft
and balmy and filled with the fragrance of blooming roses, it is said that
the lady walks through the grove, returning once again to the place that was
so dear to her in life. She appears as a pale spectre clad in a dress of
soft pink, with roses and pearls threaded through her hair."
Such a look of baffled shock and amazement came over Elfhild's face that
Ganbar felt a tinge of remorse for frightening her. Feeling guilty, he
decided to mitigate the damage that had been done to her tender feminine
sensitivities. "Of course, there is no truth to any of this," he forced a
laugh, despite the icy chill which ran down his back. "It is nothing but a
tale of dreamers and drunkards. You can hear the same story, or a variation
of it, in most any coffeehouse or tavern in Nurn. There is always some
down-on-his-luck poet who will recite it to you for a few coins. Now with
all that said, the tale at last is complete," he announced, bowing
flamboyantly from the waist.
"Thank you, Master Ganbar," Elfhild told him, expressing her gratitude for
his efforts with a gracious smile and a slight incline of her head. Yet the
tale had left her troubled. Her thoughts took her back to that night in the
ruined castle. Outside the skies exploded with lightning, illuminating the
spacious chamber with brilliant light. Yet when the room was plunged into
darkness once more, the pale figure of a woman suddenly appeared, as though
she had been birthed by the lightning and the fury of the storm. Tears like
spring showers cascaded down the ghost's cheeks and her dark eyes looked out
sadly from dim, hollow caverns. She brought her hand to her heart and blood
gushed from her chest, the crimson stain blooming like a sanguine flower as
the blood poured down her snowy gown.
Were this mournful shade and the one who was said to haunt the grove one and
the same? Or were the pale phantoms of two different women who had each met
her doom on the blade of her enemy? In a valley this scarred by violence, it
was only logical that the place was filled with the mournful spirits of
women whose lives had been unexpectedly and tragically cut short. Ganbar had
said that all of the wives and children of the Lords of Minas Morgul had
been slain in the war. When had this war occurred, and why was it fought?
Had the present King's family been murdered, or did the tragic massacre and
sack of the city occur before his reign? "I have had daughters of my own,"
he had told her that misty night by the Anduin. "Alas! They are no more!"
Had they perished in the war?
Elfhild felt a pang of sorrow stab at her heart when she thought of the
Kingly Rider bowing his proud head in grief as bitter tears ran down his
face. Elfhild knew well the agony of losing loved ones. Though the rulers of
Minas Morgul were said to be cruel, they were men, and were still capable of
love... and sorrow.
Turning her head and looking back down the trail, Elfhild studied the grove.
For a brief instant, she saw another time - of great powers which strove in
battle bloody and fierce, of sorcerous fights of fire and ice, of towers
falling, walls crumbling, children screaming, women dying, the bitter agony
of defeat, woe and grief... and then the city lay dead like the tomb. As
though peering through the filtered light of a deep mist, Elfhild saw a
pleasantly furnished chamber and a beautiful lady whose hair was a rich
shade of chestnut. She wore a dress which was as pink as the summer sunset,
but then the color darkened to the shade of blood, and then she was lost
amid the chaos.
Elfhild blinked. The vision had departed. Shivering, she turned her head
away and stared at the road in front of her, hoping that she could drive the
vision of the lady of the grove away from her reeling brain.
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