Misty filaments of vapor hung low about the trees along the alluvial plain of the River Tornîn the morning of September 26. The late summer harvest of grapes and other fruits was underway, and Shakh Sandana had been delighted when his overseer had informed him that the crop would surpass all records from previous years. The last of the grape crop would be pressed into wine that day, and the elderly vintner had called for a great celebration to herald the occasion. He had invited many of his friends to watch the wine pressing, and Esarhaddon uHuzziya, being a close companion of his, had received one of the first invitations. There were similar harvest celebrations being held at other estates all over Nurn.

While he waited for his guests to arrive, Sandana reflected upon his long life. He had been a young man when he developed a revolutionary new strain of grapes that was virtually disease free and produced much larger crops than the old varieties. He would have been content to live out his life in northern Harad, developing new plants, had not his remarkable abilities been reported to the Lord of Mordor. Though the Giver of Gifts had great abilities in shaping and modeling the elements beneath the earth, he was not known as a tiller of the soil. The mining pick and blacksmith's hammer were his tools of choice, not the plow and spade. However, he well knew the importance of agriculture, and always searched out those who showed the ability to develop promising new varieties of plants, breeds of animals, or new methods of farming. When one had plans to rule the world, one must find ways to feed his many subjects.

After learning about Sandana and his remarkable grapes, the Lord of Mordor sent agents to Harad. At first, Sandana turned down the offer of a large tract of land along the River Tornîn. He liked neither the looks of the agents nor their words, for they had the taint of brimstone about them. They told him that as long as he and his heirs produced their quota of crops, the land and all its blessings would remain with his family. He would have access to all the slaves that it would take to farm the crops and orchards, and the capital to improve the land. It was a chance to become incredibly wealthy and prominent, and only a fool would turn down such an offer. In the end, it was the endless nagging of his wife Zorvani that persuaded him to accept the offer of Mordor, and so he and his family left Harad and journeyed to Nurn, the Land of Opportunity.

There he had prospered, producing grape crops from the fertile alluvial soil of the river valley. It seemed as though everything he touched flourished and grew, and so did his wealth and reputation. Always generous in rewarding those who served him well, the Lord of Gifts had promised Sandana a fine estate, and the vintner was amazed to find that the villa that his Benefactor had built fulfilled every dream he had for a home. The villa was one of the loveliest ones along the river, yet the whole estate was designed for practicality as well as beauty.

Though it was a jewel among the river estates, Sandana's farm was run differently from others. While some landholders used methods as cruel as any orc, employing overseers who whipped and browbeat servants into grudgingly raising the crops, Sandana had always found that slaves worked better, were sick much less, and produced a significantly higher yield if they were treated well.

The Lord of Mordor was interested in results and cared little about the methods his vassals used so long as they produced the food necessary to feed his armies. There were harsh penalties for failure, of course, and a vassal could be executed if he employed a cruel overseer who was responsible for the needless deaths of slaves. Though many in the West considered Sauron the most evil entity upon all of Middle-earth, the Dark Lord did not abide wanton brutality among the Men within his own domain. Even the lowliest slave was a cog in the giant machine of Mordor, and his existence was as vital as that of a wealthy noble.

Though the years had brought Sandana prosperity, they had never brought him peace. He had great wealth, but his wife nagged him constantly for gifts and costly trinkets. His sons grew into fine, strong men, but they had a streak of cunning about them that he did not abide. His greatest solace was in art and beauty, and in Nurn, he had the means to become a patron of the arts, music and literature. There was a price, of course, even for that, and as a matter of course, the artists that he encouraged were required to create masterpieces that extolled the sublime creative genius of the Great Eye.

Glad to leave the manor house for a time, Sandana had ridden out early that morning to visit his grape arbors, watching as his workers gathered the last of the harvest. If it were possible, he would stay in his fields all day until the work was complete, but he could not, for he expected the first of his guests to arrive later that morning. It was not only that he took a great interest in the land that he loved, but he had little desire to be in his luxurious house. Zorvani had arisen before dawn, complaints upon her lips, and she had browbeaten the head cook until he was barely able to direct all the many operations involved with preparing a feast. She had proved such a terror to the servants that Sandana had the overpowering urge to reprimand her in front of the entire household staff, but he did not. He simply left in hopes that she would cool down before he got back.

Sandana would enjoy these quiet moments in the early morning peace of the orchards before the harvest festivities began in earnest. As he traversed the grounds of his estate, his young apprentice Abaru rode at his side. The previous spring, Esarhaddon had proposed that his son serve as Sandana's apprentice so that he might learn more about the complexities of managing a large estate. Sandana had agreed to the arrangement, for he felt that youth held the promise of tomorrow, and that it was the solemn responsibility for the older generation to impart wisdom upon the younger. He found Abaru to be a bright lad, inquisitive and eager to learn. He reminded him of his own sons when they were that age, before time and circumstances had caused them to drift apart.

Sandana halted his horse and watched as laborers picked the succulent grapes and dropped them into baskets. He wished that he could write a poem of praise to Yavanna, but open reverence of the Valar was a crime which carried a penalty of torture or even death. That thought made him uncomfortable, and he wondered if that fear had been reflected briefly on his face. He looked over to Abaru, but the boy merely smiled back, giving no indication that he had noticed his master's distress. Sandana turned back to the workers, who had begun singing a traditional Nurnian song of harvest which extoled the Giver of Gifts as the bestower of everything good. The old man smiled approvingly, but in his heart he felt no joy at their paeans of praise.

"Praise Him! Praise Him!" the laborers sang as they worked. "Praise the Giver of Gifts Who provides endless blessings, who brings life to the desert, who brings forth the harvest from the empty lands! Great are His mercies, and His glory is without compare!"

The melody was a rousing one, and Sandana well knew that even though the laborers would be tired after the harvest was done, they would be stirred up by songs like these. That night after their work was finished, the slaves would be allowed their own celebration. With passions running hot and wine to enflame them further, many would breed a new crop of workers that night. Such simple people, Sandana thought, who found joy in worshiping the Great Deceiver. But what could he expect? This was, after all, Mordor. Those from the West would say that he was as guilty as Sauron's chief lieutenants, for he had encouraged the deceit when he allowed the teaching of the state religion among the slaves in his keeping. But what else could he do? The teaching of religion was expected, and he did not want to be murdered by the Mordorian Inquisitors for refusing.

What was the use of mulling these things over in his mind? This was the way of it, and nothing would ever change. Sandana sighed. He must concentrate on welcoming his guests who would be arriving in a few hours. He had always taken great pleasure in showing them his vineyard, where they could see the clusters of grapes before they were harvested and sample the delightful fruit if they wished. Some looked forward to the grape harvest all year, and even joined the workers in gathering the grape clusters into baskets. Their voices would mingle with those of the laborers in songs of jubilation and praise as together they unloaded the baskets into waiting carts to be hauled to the barns. The grapes would be poured into stone bins, and the laborers would tread them under their feet to extract the first of the juices. The remaining pulp would be taken to the press room where the last of the juices were ground out by a giant beam turned by strong, burly men. The wine was channeled into a long, covered vat in the yard outside, where small pipes carried the wine into large storage jars. The jars were then placed into holes in the ground where the wine was allowed to mature.

Wine from Sandana's vineyards was renowned throughout the land, and he expected that he would sell many gallons to wine buyers before the day was over. Wealthy merchants were not his only guests, though. Nobles and other well-to-do people would be attending, for few wished to miss this momentous occasion.

As much as he would like, Sandana could stay no longer in his fields, and with the slaves' singing filling his ears, he turned his horse back towards his home. He saw his manor house there in the distance, and beyond it, a dark smudge against the landscape... the Thraqum Wood. A cold chill went down his spine as he thought of that evil place, but the bright autumn sun soon drove the feeling away. The sensation would return, however, for on their way home he and Abaru had to pass by the arbors where the slaves provided by Mordor were working. Sandana had welcomed the regional supervisor and his overseer when they had first arrived, but they were not there by his invitation. The authorities had known about the bountiful crop, for the inspectors had toured his fields in early summer and filed their endless reports. The authorities knew what everyone in Nurn did, of course; that was the way of it.

Sandana had difficulties controlling his feelings of revulsion when he saw an overseer whip a state slave until his back was bloody. He would be glad when those people took their slaves and got off his land. Situations like these always bothered him, and he tried to direct his mind to more pleasant ones. He envisioned himself sitting in his well-furnished salon among his guests as his protégés unveiled their latest creations of art, music and literature. He spent his most pleasant hours surrounded by those creative artists, poets, and musicians, engaged in intellectual discussions on a wide variety of subjects. He felt young around them, and imagined the poetry-filled days of his youth. His own sons seldom attended these gatherings, however, preferring life in the city where they were engaged in commercial interests.

"My lord!" Abaru's voice, tense and strained, interrupted his thoughts. "There is an adder on the path up ahead!" They halted their skittish horses and waited for the poisonous serpent to crawl away into the bushes. When the snake was gone, Abaru looked to his master with worry-filled eyes. "I pray that it is not an evil omen!"

"It was just a snake, Abaru," Sandana told him reassuringly as they rode on. "It is gone now, taking with it any evil that it possessed."

"I certainly hope so," Abaru sighed with relief. "My father does not believe in things like omens, but I am not so sure how I feel about such matters."

His thick, wiry brows furrowed, Sandana gazed pensively ahead, reflecting upon Abaru's words. "It is wise to be observant of signs, but not every occurrence which seems out of the ordinary is a harbinger of good fortune or dreadful doom. Sometimes things are exactly what they appear to be."

Mounted on their horses, he and Abaru had been in little danger from the serpent, but still Sandana felt unnerved by the experience, coming so soon as it had after the brutal whipping of the slave. If a man let himself, he could become as superstitious as the peasants, and imagine demons behind every tree. He refused to be infected by such thinking. He had much better things to occupy his mind. For the rest of the ride, he would entertain himself on plans for the journey he would take in the spring to Harad. He had been longing for months to get away to the clean, bright desert where he hoped that the clear air and peace and tranquility would restore his spirit.

By the time he reached the manor house, Shakh Sandana was feeling much better. He took a deep breath and looked at the colorful pavilion the servants had set up for his guests. He sighed contentedly as he watched the streamers snap in the morning breeze. It would be a day to remember.

As Esarhaddon and his entourage rode along the River Tornîn, they watched a flock of waterfowl take wing, just skimming over the surface until they flew into the air across its broad expanse. Tinted with a slight brownish cast, the water was low this time of year, moving sluggishly past the reeds and marsh grass which grew along the banks. The road followed the course of the river, which swung south in a wide bend at that point. Travelers could journey along the water's twisted course, or they could save time by taking a shortcut through the Thraqum Wood, an immense forest of mixed swamp land and woods. As his sturdy mare Ka'adara carried him ever onward, Esarhaddon wondered to himself why the road had not originally been built through the forest, but who knew what had been in the minds of those who first traveled through these lands so long ago? He supposed it was because the forest had an evil reputation even back then, but that was all superstitious nonsense. He considered taking the shortcut, for it would cut at least a half hour off the journey, but he decided against the idea. Both Goldwyn and Kabtu were with him, and he did not wish to frighten his son, or upset his concubine.

Esarhaddon was looking forward to seeing his old friend, Shakh Sandana, whose estate lay to the west of the Thraqum Wood. Although the vintner's estate was less than a half day's journey from his own manor, he had wanted to arrive early in the day, and so he had set off just after sunrise in the company of Goldwyn and Kabtu. A small party of servants traveled with him as well: Zabar, his personal bodyguard whom he employed to protect him when he went about his business in Nurn; Tavlida, one of the warrior women whom he kept to guard his household; and Raen, Goldwyn's maid. His wives often accompanied him on visits such as these, but Anúrnissa was recovering from childbirth, and Shumeeren had taken ill with a terrible cold. Though they cared little for Shakh Sandana's wife, Shumeeren and Anúrnissa paid the older woman social visits out of respect for their husband. He hoped that Goldwyn would get on well with Lady Zorvani, even though the woman had the reputation of being a shrew. Of course, for that matter, Goldwyn could be quite the shrew herself!

Esarhaddon knew he was taking a risk by inviting the proud Northern lady to accompany him, for she was oft quite vocal in her anger and resentment towards Mordor. However, he had stressed the dire consequences for breaking the laws or displeasing those in power, and he suspected that she would conduct herself with dignity and restraint. Besides, she would only be at the wine festival for part of the morning and afternoon. Esarhaddon did not want the women of his household or his children traveling so close to the Thraqum Wood after nightfall had darkened the land, and so he had made arrangements for Goldwyn and Kabtu to depart from the festival long before the sun set. Abaru would be accompanying them as well, for it had been three weeks since he had last visited home, when he had come to celebrate the birth of Mindin. Though Esarhaddon disbelieved most of the tales about the Thraqum Wood, it could still be a dangerous place, especially after the sun set. As for himself, he had little fear of the forest or its perils, and he planned to stay at the festival for as long as he desired, even if it meant departing at midnight.

Esarhaddon looked over at Goldwyn, who rode at his side, her long golden hair unbound and flying about her shoulders. She was mounted upon Hopa, the bay dun gelding which he had purchased for her at the Blûgund livestock market. Her maid had dressed her in an outfit which was common among horsewomen in Nurn: a lightweight blue embroidered jacket over a cream-colored shirt, and a voluminous riding skirt of red cloth patterned with yellow embroidery. Esarhaddon was surprised that Goldwyn had even accepted his invitation to the wine festival, but she seemed eager to get out of the house and explore the countryside. He was glad that she was warming up to him at last. These last few weeks, there were moments when it seemed as though she genuinely enjoyed his company. He considered this great progress, for she had spent most of the journey to Nurn refusing to speak with him. Perhaps one day she would finally open her heart to him and love him out of sincerity and not out of duty.

When Esarhaddon and his entourage arrived at Shakh Sandana's villa, servants took their horses and then directed them around the stately residence to a large pavilion near the vineyards. The enormous tent served as a shelter where travelers could rest from their journeys before going on to tour the estate. All around them was the lively buzz of conversation as the other guests mingled amongst themselves, and in the distance they could hear the jubilant singing of the laborers who tended the vines. Abaru, who had been patiently waiting for the arrival of his family, eagerly greeted his father, his father's new concubine, and his younger brother, and bade them sit upon the soft carpet which covered the ground. Servants brought bowls of scented water and soft cloths for the travelers to cleanse their hands and faces, and then offered them freshly pressed grape juice to restore their strength. After a while, Kabtu grew restless and bored; he had come here to galivant and make merry, not sit around.

Sensing Kabtu's growing unease, Abaru decided to intervene. "Father, may I have permission to take Kabtu over to the treading vats and watch as the slaves stomp on the grapes?"

"Yes, son," Esarhaddon told him, the briefest hint of a smile flashing in his eyes. "I consider that you are a responsible young man, well able to look after your younger brother."

"I will keep him out of trouble, Father." Abaru sounded very serious.

The day was a bright, sunny one with puffy white clouds on a blue sky. Far off in the distance towards the river, they could see the water wheels constantly turning, their buckets filling with water from the river and emptying the contents into the irrigation ditches. No one had ever recorded when the first water wheels were built. Some said that the method for their construction had come from far to the East in Khand, for that riverine civilization was very old. Most believed that to be true, for to the East was the birthplace of civilization itself. Others firmly believed that the Giver of Gifts had imparted his knowledge of building to the early settlers. A few, who would never dare voice their opinions, believed that it had been the Gondorians who had brought the water wheel to Nurn. Most found such discussions a useless waste of time, however, for all that was important was that the water reached the fields, bringing the country to life.

When the boys arrived at the treading vats, the laborers had just delivered a cart filled with baskets of grapes. Abaru caught sight of Lakno, the overseer's son, and waved to his friend. As Shakh Sandana's apprentice, Abaru spent much time at his estate, and he had become well acquainted with many of the farmhands. Lakno was only a year younger than Abaru, and the two boys had become fast friends. After giving Abaru a wave of greeting, Lakno picked up a heavy basket overflowing with grapes and carried it over to one of the troughs which the workers would use to tread the fruit.

"Here, let me help you with that," Abaru told him as he lifted another container from the wagon and poured it into the trough.

"Thank you, Master," Lakno smiled as he set down his now empty basket. "Are you here to do all my work?"

"No, you lazy lout!" Abaru jabbed him in the shoulder. "I am here to make sure that you do not shirk!"

"I will be sure to work twice as hard then." Lakno flashed a gap-toothed grin as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "Father has been keeping me quite busy. It is an immense task to harvest the wine and process it, especially since this year's harvest is so great."

"Then my brother and I will help, too." Abaru looked down at Kabtu, who nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

With the additional help, the wagon was soon unloaded. The driver was ready to return to the fields for another load when Lakno's father came bustling up to Abaru and Kabtu.

"Young Masters, I am in your debt," the overseer bowed to them. "I need you every day to show these lazy slaves how to work!" He was so effusive in his praise that Abaru felt embarrassed, especially since he knew that the man was only trying to flatter them.

"I was glad we could help Lakno," Abaru told him. "He is my friend."

"Young Master, I am going to dismiss my son for the rest of the morning. You three boys can enjoy the festivities." The overseer gave them a fawning smile, bowed, and went back to work.

"Well, now, it looks like I am free to do whatever I wish," Lakno remarked, turning back to Abaru and his little brother. "I am certainly glad you two came along! What would you like to do?"

"Let us go see the grape stomping," Abaru suggested.

A crowd had gathered in the farmyard where three young men, barefoot and stripped down to their breeches, were stomping the grapes. Holding each other about the shoulders for balance, they laughed as they sloshed through the large wooden tub filled with fruit. This first wine was the most prized, for it was considered to have curative powers, and would be stored separately from other wine. The remaining "must" containing stems, skins, seeds and juices was taken to the winepress, which would grind the remaining liquid from the pulp.

"Are you going to help them?" Kabtu asked his brother. He thought it would be entertaining to stomp the grapes and feel the juice running between his bare toes.

"No, little brother, you go ahead and dance and I will watch." Abaru looked to Lakno. "Is it all right if he joins the men?" The thought of the sticky mess held no appeal to him.

"Yes, certainly, Master. I will go with him myself." Lakno walked over to Kabtu. "Take off everything down to your breeches. Be sure to tie your waist tight lest your sweat roll down and pollute the grapes!"

Abaru watched as his friend and younger brother took the place of one of the grape stompers. The little boy's legs soon became stained to the knee with the purple juice from the grapes. Kabtu was very energetic, enjoying the attention of the crowd, which had grown larger.

"Dance, young master!" the crowd cheered him on, and Kabtu rewarded them by stomping harder and faster, capering about and improvising a lively dance. Workers poured in another basket of grapes, which did not put a damper on his enthusiasm. As the crowd shouted and laughed, he worked the grapes under his feet. Suddenly his feet flew out from under him, and he went down in a spray of grape juice.

"Kabtu, are you all right?" Lakno shouted, sloshing his way over to the little boy.

"Yes, of course," he replied, covered from his head to his feet in purple. "Pour in more grapes! I want to help!"

While the boys amused themselves at the winepress, Esarhaddon and Goldwyn walked back towards the manor house. Shakh Sandana and Lady Zorvani greeted them, welcoming them to the estate. The lady of the house was a dour-faced elderly woman whose once raven locks were now mostly silver gray. Dressed in an austere but elegant gown of deep blue over which had been draped a long expanse of silk in a matching shade, she was the picture of quiet opulence. Judging from her regal posture and the upward tilt of her chin, it was quite obvious that Lady Zorvani had a high opinion of herself. The woman's wealth was not what impressed Goldwyn, however, but rather the two dogs that were her constant companions. They were the strangest dogs that Goldwyn had ever seen. Their slender, elongated faces were framed by long, silky hair that would be the envy of many a woman, and the rest of their bodies were covered by the same luxuriant tresses which cascaded nearly to the ground. One of the dogs had hair the color of pale creamy gold and platinum, while the other was a steely bluish gray streaked with white.

After introductions, Shakh Sandana and Lady Zorvani bade Esarhaddon and Goldwyn to follow them inside the manor house, where they showed them the great hall, the vintner's enormous library, several well-appointed parlors, and a beautiful courtyard with a shallow pool surrounded by potted plants and stone benches for sitting. The tour was more for Goldwyn's benefit, as Esarhaddon was quite familiar with Sandana's home.

Bidding his wife farewell for a time, Shakh Sandana led Esarhaddon and Goldwyn back outside, promising them a grand tour of the estate. The day was a lovely one, warm and balmy, with a soft, gentle breeze that stirred the leaves of the trees and filled the air with the scent of growing things. Sandana's vineyards were vast, with row upon row of grape trellises stretching out as far as the eye could see. The emerald green of the vines stood out in sharp contrast to the dusty yellow paths which ran between the rows, giving the landscape a striped appearance which reminded Goldwyn of the patterns on a quilt. She had never been to a vineyard before, as the climate of Rohan was less than favorable for growing grapes. She watched as the laborers cut bunches of grapes from heavily laden vines, filling baskets with the dark purple fruit. As Sandana discussed the merits of the strain of grapes which he had developed, Esarhaddon gave high praises to the elderly vintner's abilities to coax abundance from the earth.

When Esarhaddon had invited her to go with him to the wine festival, Goldwyn had accepted because she thought that the excursion might be a good opportunity to scout out the land towards the west. It was far more common for Esarhaddon and his wives to travel to the east, for the village of Blûgund and the city of Turkûrzgoi lay that way, but Goldwyn's interests lay to the west. If she were to make another escape attempt, she would have to familiarize herself with western Nurn, for her desperate flight would take her through that region. Far beyond the Mountains of Shadow and the realm of Gondor lay her homeland, and that was where her heart yearned to return.

A wild urge came over her to make a run for it right then and there, but she knew that would be the height of folly. She cast a glance back over her shoulder at the two guards who followed behind them. Tavlida was stocky and muscular, with ginger hair that was braided about her head and partially hidden beneath a leather cap. Clad in a padded brigandine, she carried a scimitar at her side and had numerous daggers strapped to her person. A man of immense size, Zabar cut an intimidating figure. Armed and armored in a similar fashion to his female counterpart, he looked like a man not to be challenged. Goldwyn noted that Esarhaddon often traveled in the company of guards. While there was safety in numbers when one traversed through the wastes, it seemed unlikely that Esarhaddon would be in any danger in the land he called home, especially not at his friend's estate. Perhaps the presence of Zabar and Tavlida was more for show than protection.

After the tour of the grape fields, Shakh Sandana directed them towards the farmyard, where the laborers made great sport out of treading the newly harvested fruit. The crowd around the grape vats had grown even larger with the arrival of more guests, and the air was filled with the sounds of laughter and singing. The lively spectacle brought joy to all present, and hearts were light and spirits high. Catching sight of the newly arrived party, Abaru hailed them with an enthusiastic greeting, while Kabtu rushed forward to meet his father as he approached.

"Father, have you come to tread the grapes?" Kabtu asked breathlessly.

Esarhaddon looked the boy up and down, taking notice of his purple-stained legs and breeches. "It looks like you already have," he chuckled in amusement. "Do you think my feet would flavor the wine better than yours?"

"Let us find out!" Kabtu giggled, jumping from one foot to another with excitement.

"Perhaps another time," Esarhaddon told his son with an indulgent smile. "Shakh Sandana is giving Lady Goldwyn and me a tour of his estate."

The next stop on the tour was the barn which contained the winepress, and then the amphorae cellar, where the freshly pressed grape juice was stored in large ceramic vessels and left to ferment. While Goldwyn did find the tour of the vineyard to be surprisingly enjoyable, she did not much like the cool, dark chamber with its thick stone walls and barrel-vaulted ceiling, for it reminded her of the crypts of Osgiliath. She was glad to leave the cellar behind and step out into the golden light of day.

After leaving the wine cellar and farmyard behind, Shakh Sandana led them back towards his manor house, where the midday meal was about to begin. Beneath the shelter of a vine-covered pergola, the vintner's guests lounged upon plush cushions and enjoyed the bounties of the Nurnian harvest and fine vintages from previous years. Sunlight filtered through the grape leaves overhead, casting shifting patterns of dappled shadows over the diners below.

Picking up a bunch of succulent grapes from a large bowl, Esarhaddon plucked a single grape from the stalk and held it up to Goldwyn's lips. For a moment, Goldwyn froze, horrified by the intimacy of the gesture. Although they were relatively secluded in their shady corner of the pergola, still this was a public place. She cast a desperate glance at Raen, a silent plea for support. The two women's eyes briefly met, and the handmaiden dipped her chin in the slightest of nods. "You could wrap him around your finger if you tried, and he would worship at your feet." Swallowing down the bile which rose in her throat, Goldwyn leaned forward and cautiously took the grape from Esarhaddon's fingers. It was all she could do to keep from clamping her teeth down on his finger – quite literally biting at the hand which fed her.

Although it pained her to degrade herself in such a tawdry fashion, Goldwyn knew that it would draw suspicion if she outright refused, especially after all the work she had done to convince Esarhaddon that she was beginning to return his affections. A complacent enemy was one who could be easily manipulated, his false sense of security leaving him bare to a surprise attack. This was the perilous game she played, and although she loathed being a player, she was determined to win. Playing the game came with a cost, however. Every devious kiss, every deceitful embrace, every night of passionate lies rubbed her conscience raw and chipped away at her soul. She wondered how much would be left when at last the game came to an end.

At the conclusion of the midday dinner, Shakh Sandana's guests dispersed around the estate, some returning to the vineyard, others taking tours of the manor house instead. It was late in the afternoon when Esarhaddon sent Goldwyn and his sons back home in the company of Tavlida and Raen. He and Zabar would stay longer at the vintner's estate, with plans to return home after the feast that evening. As the small procession traveled eastward, Goldwyn felt a shiver go down her spine as they passed the Thraqum Wood. Even though the sun was bright in the sky, it seemed that no light penetrated the hazy gloom beneath the ancient trees. While the wine cellar, with its stone walls and low ceilings, might resemble a tomb in appearance, the brooding forest exuded the same sort of darkness which seeped from the ancient crypts of Osgiliath. Truly, this was a place of great evil, and Goldwyn was glad when its shadow was far behind her.