The raised dais in Esarhaddon's great hall could also serve as a stage for small theatrical productions, and as soon as the last guest filed out of the spacious chamber after the morning meal, servants swiftly prepared the hall for the afternoon's entertainments. Curtains were stretched across the back part of the hall to create wings and a backstage area for Mistress Sa-li and her theatre students. Stagehands moved sets and props into place, and wardrobe assistants helped the actresses with costumes and cosmetics. With everything in place, the cast of players waited in breathless anticipation for the moment they would be called to the stage.

As she listened to the excited chattering of her friends, Elfhild felt her stomach quiver from the suspense of waiting, and it was all she could do to sit still. Since neither she nor Haya had ever been involved in an official school production, they had not been chosen to fill any of the main roles; rather, they would act as stagehands, as well as extras who had few lines. More experienced students would be playing the main characters for each of the three skits which had been chosen by Lady Anúrnissa. The only exception was Anahilli, who would be performing for the first time before a public audience. Mistress Sa-li felt that her casting decisions would allow Elfhild and Haya to observe an official performance, while Anahilli could gain acting experience in a smaller, more casual production.

"I wonder if the long wait to go on the stage is more fraught with anxiety than actually standing upon it," Nurma mused. As one of the wardrobe assistants, she had her handy sewing basket with her in case one of the actresses accidentally ripped her costume, or there was some other clothing related crisis.

"Oh, no, the waiting is the easy part; it is standing there in front of all those people which makes the heart quail with fear," Koairy remarked, her dark eyes going wide as she nodded in agreement with herself.

Haya, who was sitting nearby, looked at Koairy with confusion. "But you stand in front of the entire school every morning to give the announcements."

"That is different than playing a character on the stage," Koairy explained. "Not only do I have to remember my lines, but I must deliver them with conviction, speaking and acting as the character I am portraying."

"I think I will stick to sewing." Nurma shuddered, intimidated by the mere thought of performing.

Elfhild was glad that she had not been chosen to play one of the main roles in the three skits. While it was true that she had once performed for a public audience, it had been a disaster, and she was hesitant to repeat the experience. Of course, she would ultimately be performing before a large crowd in the "Tale of the Dissatisfied King," but that would not be until the spring. She hoped that she would be more experienced and confident by then.

For the past three weeks, the theatre class had been practicing Act One of the first evening of the three-day production. Her character, Princess Shahula, did not make an appearance until the second act. Elfhild had not been idle, however. She had been familiarizing herself with the plot of "The Dissatisfied King," and all of the various legends of the South and East which inspired Mistress Sa-li. She tried to learn all she could about Princess Shahúlla, her history, her personality, and her motivations, so that she might be able to imagine herself as the character when it came time for her to ascend to the stage. Through the skilled tutelage of Mistress Sa-li, as well as her own observations of her classmates, she had been learning more about the art of the theatre: how to project her voice so that the furthest members of the audience might hear her, how to convey emotion through the unspoken language of the body. She studied how the experienced actresses portrayed their characters, learning from their example. She had also been practicing the choreography she would need to know for a scene in Act Three in which Princess Shahúlla performed a dance of sorcery. The effects of the princess' powers of enchantment were represented by long, colorful streamers which were attached to batons; Elfhild would twirl the batons as she danced, the fluttering of the ribbons symbolic of the spark and flash of powerful magic.

In addition to rehearsing the first act of "The Dissatisfied King," the theatre class had also been practicing the three skits they would be performing during the celebration for Esarhaddon's son. While the skits were new territory for Elfhild, they were part of the repertoire of the theatre class, and most of the other students had performed them multiple times.

The first skit of the afternoon was a comedy of errors about an orc tavernkeeper who was desperately trying to impress a Mordorian officer who was a picky eater. Dokela's bumbling uruk was hilarious to watch, and Koairy's officer was appropriately officious in his demands. The second skit was another comedy, this time about a wizard who turned his incompetent apprentice into a spotted toad. The usually airy Mirsana made for a surprisingly grouchy wizard, and Esma in a frog costume had the audience clutching their sides with laughter. The third skit combined suspense with humor in a story about a thief attempting to steal from a sleeping dragon. Esma, with her flare for the dramatic, had played the dragon, while Anahilli had been assigned the role of the thief.

When the final skit had concluded, the curtain closed upon the stage, giving the actresses time to assemble for the final bow. The moment the stage was hidden from the audience, Anahilli clutched her chest, her breathing coming in heavy gulps. Violent coughing racked her body, and she sank down to her knees, the savage coughing fit nearly causing her to retch on the floor.

"Anahilli!" Mistress Sa-li exclaimed, rushing to kneel at her side. "What is wrong?"

"I – I am fine," Anahilli choked out, balling a fist against her chest.

"Do you wish for me to call for the healer?" Sa-li inquired, her lovely face pinched with worry.

Her eyes watering and her cheeks flushed, Anahilli shook her head. "No… this happens sometimes. Usually when I run, or laugh too hard."

Struggling to rein in their alarm, Elfhild and the other theatre students stared at Anahilli with helpless confusion, uncertain what they could do to help their friend. Anahilli's coughing fit lasted for several long moments which seemed to go on forever. She kept her clenched fists pressed against her chest as she forcefully cleared her throat over and over again. At last the coughing began to subside, and she smiled sheepishly at the others.

"Are you feeling better now?" Mistress Sa-li laid a gentle hand upon her back.

Anahilli took in a ragged breath, her chest heaving. "Yes… Yes. I think so." She nodded her head and cleared her throat again. "I… I think I forgot to breathe the whole time I was on the stage."

"Your performance was wonderful; however, it is very important that one keeps breathing!" Mistress Sa-li chuckled gently and gave Anahilli a smile of encouragement. "Perhaps what you are experiencing is an affliction which is all too common for those to whom the stage calls. Sometimes the desires of an actress' heart conflict with her fear of the audience's gaze; panic causes her to breathe faster, and then it becomes difficult for her to catch her breath! However, even though you assure me that you do not need the aid of Mistress Me'arya, I still want you to seek out her advice." The theatre instructor turned her gaze to Koairy. "Take Anahilli to the healer's chambers. Quickly now, for soon the curtains will open once again and reveal us to the audience."

After the departure of Koairy and Anahilli, Mistress Sa-li instructed the stagehands to draw back the curtains, and the cast gave their final bows. Lady Anúrnissa announced that it was time for the guests to depart from the hall so that the servants could begin preparing the chamber for the feast that evening. Most of the ladies returned to the pavilions which had been set up for the families of Esarhaddon's guests, while Anúrnissa's inner circle accompanied the lady to her quarters. Since grand spectacles and celebrations required the collective effort of every available servant to ensure that all went smoothly, the actresses parted ways to go about the various tasks which had been assigned to them.

Mistress Sa-li instructed Nurma to go to the merchants' fair and scout out the fabric offerings there. The theatre instructor would be occupied with various preparations for much of the afternoon, and she desired to see if making a special trip to visit the market would be worthwhile. Nurma asked if Elfhild could accompany her, and Mistress Sa-li gave her approval, stating that two reports would be better than one.

"I thought you might enjoy some time out of doors, free from classrooms and walls," Nurma confided as they emerged from the manor house into the bright sunshine of late afternoon.

"Oh yes, indeed," Elfhild exclaimed, breathing in deeply of the fresh air and tilting her head back to bask in the light of the sun. "Freedom feels good." A pang of dread struck her the moment the words left her mouth; would such a statement be considered traitorous coming from the lips of a slave?

"Novices in their first year are given very few privileges." What opinion Nurma had of Elfhild's remark, if any, remained hidden in her casual explanation of the rules. "After students have been at the school for a year, and have proven themselves trustworthy and loyal, they are given more freedoms. The instructors will begin asking you to run errands for them, and you will no longer need to be escorted by a student who holds seniority."

"I look forward to that day," Elfhild sighed as they strolled along the dusty path which led away from the manor house. The lands here were part of Esarhaddon's estate, with the pastures and cropland providing sustenance for the manor and the school. While many of the fields lay in golden repose after the summer harvest, others boasted a flush of green from newly sprouted winter grains. Elfhild's mind took her back to the fields of Rohan, and she felt her heart flood with nostalgia. The beginnings of tears prickled her eyes, and she forced herself to return to the present.

Merchants from nearby villages and towns, with some hailing from as far away as Turkûrzgoi to the east and Kuga Mos to the west, had come to the celebration to sell their wares. The fair had been set up in a fallow field near the pavilions of the guests and the area where the athletic competitions were taking place. As she followed along behind Nurma, Elfhild gazed with wonder at the vast array of merchandise presented upon tables, displayed upon stands, or spread out upon carpets. There were weapons and tools; baskets and pottery; furniture and wooden goods; bolts of cloth in various patterns and hues; shoes, belts, and pouches of finely tooled leather; and exquisite garments made from costly fabrics. There were kerchiefs and beaded purses; perfumes and fragrant oils; jewelry from the most frivolous of beaded glass to fine rings and necklaces; parchments, inks and paints; bound volumes and manuscripts; and all manner of wondrous and well-crafted things.

During the journey to the House of the Golden Chain, the caravan of Rohirric captives had passed by the Great Bazaar of Turkûrzgoi, and Elfhild had caught a brief glimpse of the enormous marketplace which boasted goods from all over the East and South of Middle-earth. While the merchants' fair was only a tiny fraction of the size of the bazaar, she was no less impressed by the sights which she beheld. If anything, she was even more impressed, for she was able to browse at leisure and marvel at the skill of the artisans. She was especially interested in the bookseller's booth, and the blank leatherbound journals which he was selling. One day, she would master the art of reading and writing, and perhaps record an account of her life in a journal such as that one.

Observing the other customers at the market was almost as enjoyable as looking at the merchandise, although she had to be cautious in her study of their behavior and manner of dress, lest she be accused of disrespecting her superiors. The noblewomen and merchants' wives were out in full splendor, clad in costly garments and bedecked with jewels, retinues of servants following along behind them. Laughing and chattering amongst themselves, the women sauntered around the market, peering at the wares and asking questions of the sellers. A lady would find objects that appealed to her and, after some haggling with the seller – who had first set an extravagantly high price and then gradually lowered the sum down – she would tell one of her servants to pay the merchant for the coveted items.

In her search for fabric for the theatre mistress, Nurma led Elfhild to a merchant who specialized in colorfully woven and embroidered cloth. An elderly woman with a pleasant, kind wrinkled face smiled at them, bidding them welcome to her booth. "Ah, Nurma, it is good to see you again!" The merchant's gaze turned to Elfhild. "I see you have brought a friend with you this time."

"Greetings, Mistress Fânurmi." Nurma bowed from the waist. "This is Hild, one of the new students at the school."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mistress." Elfhild pressed her hand to her heart as she bowed.

"We are on an errand for Mistress Sa-li," Nurma explained. "She is in great need of fabrics for the theatrical production in the spring, and wanted me to inspect your inventory and then report back to her. The play is set in a mythical kingdom to the east of Harûnak, so she is especially interested in exotic fabrics from distant lands."

"You are in luck today then, for you will never see more exquisite fabrics than those old Fânurmi has brought for your delight! I have fabrics in blue, red, pink, green, yellow, gold, white, silver, violet – some streaked with golden threads and others with silver. Here, I have one threaded with images of roses, some with anemones, and others with all other manner of fair blossoms. You would have to travel all the way to Turkûrzgoi to find anything of this quality!"

Nurma inspected each bolt of material which the merchant selected for her approval, studying the color and quality of the fabric. "Indeed, you do have a most impressive selection, Mistress," she remarked, her voice filled with awe. "I will send word back to my mistress when I return to the school. She plans to visit the fair later this afternoon."

"I look forward to seeing her," Fânurmi replied with a smile.

With a bow of farewell, Nurma departed from the elderly woman's booth and continued down the aisle of merchants, pausing to greet people whom she knew.

"Are you going to buy anything for yourself?" Elfhild asked as she walked beside Nurma.

"I did bring some of my own coin, in case I see something which I really like." Nurma patted the purse that hung from her belt. "My dolls could use some new dresses, but I am very selective in the fabrics I choose for them."

Elfhild felt a little trill of excitement at the mention of Nurma's dolls. She had learned much about the art of dollmaking – and magic – over the past week.

"When you craft with purposeful intention, you imbue your works with the desires of your heart," Nurma had explained one evening when they were sewing in the courtyard garden. "If one possesses certain innate strengths and power of will, then one's creations become more than mere handicrafts: they become objects of a mystical nature. Any object which is suffused with its maker's will also contains a part of its maker's power."

Nurma's dolls – the magic ones, not the mundane toys and keepsakes which she also made – were usually effigies of people who were dear to her. While she cut the cloth into human shaped forms and then stitched the pieces together, she would sing a song of sewing, filling the rhyming verses with the fond affection she felt for the recipient. Each carefully crafted stitch represented her desire for their health and happiness, and the songs she sang to the finished dolls reflected her intentions. If a friend was sick, she sang over the doll and willed that they be healed of all afflictions; if they were to venture into peril, she willed that no harm would come to them.

"But what if someone with ill intentions finds one of the dolls?" Elfhild had asked. "Could they use it to harm the person whom you wished to help?"

"No, they would only be harming me, as I was the one who made the doll." When Nurma saw the confused expression upon Elfhild's face, she elaborated further. "When a work is imbued with the power of its maker, it becomes just as much a part of them as they are of it."

"What... what would happen if someone ripped up the doll?" Elfhild's throat suddenly went dry, and she swallowed against the uncomfortable sensation. Although Nurma only used her dolls for benevolent purposes, somehow this knowledge felt forbidden, and Elfhild wondered if she had ventured too far down the path of the arcane.

"Since a portion of whatever harm comes to my dolls would also come to me, I suffer along with them." A pained expression came over Nurma's face, and she grimaced at some unpleasant memory which had been brought to the surface of her mind. "Several years ago, there was a novice who despised me – I do not know why; perhaps she was jealous that Mistress Fariela accounted me as one of her helpers in the needlecraft class. She sneaked into the dormitory of the apprentices when no one was watching, and rifled through my possessions. She found a doll I had made to help relieve the stiffness in Mistress Fariela's fingers, and threw it on the brazier. I had hives all over my body for days."

Elfhild felt her heart beat heavy in her chest. "It seems dangerous, to create an object which would leave you so vulnerable to harm."

"That is the reason why that I destroy the dolls myself if they are no longer of use." Nurma wagged her finger knowingly. "What can be made can also be unmade. To discard a doll safely, I undo its stitches in the reverse order of how I sewed them, while singing a song of unmaking."

"Do you get back the power that you put into the doll?"

"No, that is lost forever." A sad smile flickered over Nurma's lips. "To destroy the works of one's hands is always a sorrowful thing, but at least they cannot be used to harm me."

Magic was certainly complicated, Elfhild thought to herself as she followed Nurma to a fabric booth which had caught her eye.

"Welcome, welcome!" The merchant, a portly woman of middle years, waddled over to greet them. "My name is Dayora, and you will not be disappointed at the quality of my goods. Fine materials brought by caravan from far away! Brocades in stunning patterns! Woolens crafted by the nomads of the ashen plain! Even silk that was brought through many dangers by caravanners who dared to travel to Far Khand!"

"Oh, this is so pretty!" Elfhild exclaimed as she picked up a piece of fine orange linen which had been woven with tiny white flowers. She had a vision of herself making a skirt from the fabric; how it would twirl when she moved, resembling a lily in bloom. "Do I dare ask how much it costs?"

"My dear, this is a bargain for twelve bronze zoshk," the merchant replied.

Twelve zoshk. Elfhild had more than enough to pay for the fabric using the coin she had received from the Dolrujâtar. She did not have the money on her, however; it was safely tucked away in the school treasury. Perhaps she could go back to the school and make a withdrawal…

At that moment, a noblewoman and her small entourage of servants – one of whom carried a large parasol to shade his lady from the harsh rays of the sun – halted in front of Dayora's booth. Bowing to the noblewoman, Elfhild and Nurma moved respectfully to the side so that she might browse the stall at her leisure. Although she knew that Mordorian etiquette demanded that slaves lower their gaze when in the presence of superiors, Elfhild was unable to contain her curiosity, and she lifted her head slightly to cast a surreptitious glance towards the powerful and influential noblewoman.

The lady was quite beautiful, with raven hair and ivory skin. If her appearance had any flaw, it was that her oval face was slightly too long. She was clad in a crimson gown of finely woven linen with elbow-length bell sleeves and a flowing, many-paneled skirt; intricate black embroidery adorned the neck and hems of the garment. Resting upon her forehead was a golden ferronnière with a single ruby, and from her neck hung chains of gold and pendants of precious stones.

For the briefest of instances, the noblewoman's gaze fell upon Elfhild, and she felt her heart drop to her stomach with the sudden shock of discovery. The lady's eyes narrowed, a glint of cruelty in those dark orbs. Thoroughly intimidated and fearful of punishment, Elfhild bowed her head lower, her chin touching her chest.

The noblewoman cast a disinterested glance at the bolts of cloth arranged upon the tables in Dayora's stall, and then she caught sight of the orange linen. "This would look beautiful made into a dress for me," she exclaimed as she picked up the material and gave it a closer inspection. Even though Elfhild was gazing resolutely at the ground, she could feel the lady's eyes boring into her as she spoke.

"Oh, how lovely, Mistress!" one of the noblewoman's fawning handmaidens exclaimed as she and her fellow servants clustered around their mistress. "That color is so flattering to your peerless complexion!"

"I will take this piece and the bolt it was cut from," the lady proclaimed, her voice filled with affected magnanimity.

Elfhild could not help but lift her head as disappointment rang through her like the tolling of a bell. Was the noblewoman purchasing an entire bolt of cloth… just to spite her? As if in response to her silent inquiry, the lady glanced in her direction, an unmistakable smirk upon her face.

"I am very honored, lady, that you have chosen to purchase my humble wares," Dayora remarked gratefully, seemingly unaware of the unspoken drama occurring around her. "Will there be anything else?"

"I do quite admire the red silk that you offer, and this brocaded green cloth is exquisite." The noblewoman smiled, gesturing towards two different bolts of brilliantly dyed fabrics. "I have a fondness for bright colors, you see, and you have the most priceless materials I have seen in a long season."

"Mistress, you always look so radiant no matter what color you wear," the handmaiden simpered.

The noblewoman looked approvingly at her servant. "I will take all three bolts of fabric. Pay merchant and deliver the material to my pavilion. I want to look at Fânurmi's offerings before we go." After the purchase was complete, the lady and her entourage departed, the enormous parasol bobbing along through the row of merchant stalls.

"You truly had your heart set on that orange fabric with the white flowers, did you not?" Nurma asked sympathetically.

"Oh, I was only looking," Elfhild lied, a vain attempt to soften the humiliating blow she had just been dealt. If only she had brought the Dolrujâtar reward with her, she could have bought that piece of cloth before the noblewoman had a chance to get her claws on it. Then she would have been able to make a skirt or tunic for herself, and have another garment to wear besides her school uniform. However, she had never expected that she would be allowed to visit the merchants' fair, so it did not occur to her to retrieve her coin from the treasury.

After making another round through the market to ensure that they did not overlook anything the first time, Nurma sighed with resignation. "Well, I suppose that we should be getting back to the school, now that our quest is finished. Did you have a good time at the market?"

"Oh yes, I thoroughly enjoyed myself." Elfhild forced her lips into a smile of merriment. She would not let the noblewoman's pettiness sully an otherwise pleasant day. The lady might have robbed her of the orange cloth, but she refused to grant her any more victories. "This is very much like the fairs I remember in the Mark. Much smaller, though."

"I know how stifling the school can be at times," Nurma confided, a sympathetic apology in her voice. "The courtyard garden provides a welcome respite from classrooms and dormitories, and then there is the manor's walled garden with its stately pavilions and cleverly designed fountains, but these are paltry replacements for the freedom of the open countryside."

"Surprisingly, I do not find the school to be all that confining. Classes keep me occupied most of the day, and my evenings are spent with the friends whom I have made during my time here." Elfhild paused, hesitating. While Nurma was her friend, she was also her superior in the hierarchy of the school, and a part of her worried that her elder classmate might be testing her. "I never thought it would be possible to enjoy myself in Mordor, but I am learning that Nurn is not so bad of a place," Elfhild admitted grudgingly. "I think you have helped me discover that, Nurma. You are a good friend." For some time, she had been coming to terms with her captivity, though she would never like it.

"Many of the girls feel the same way that you do." Nurma patted her hand. "Many have been shattered by their losses and are grieving for their old homes, family and friends. I have heard such sad, heart-wrenching tales that I could cry just thinking about them. They go on. They must." Her kind brown eyes were filled with sympathy and understanding.

Elfhild looked around at the Nurnian countryside, admiring the beauty of the land with its green and golden fields beneath a cloudless sky of azure blue. "It is such a lovely day." She sighed as a wave of bittersweet reluctance washed over her. "It seems a shame to go back inside."

"Well, Mistress Sa-li did not specify when we should return," Nurma smiled, winking. "I suppose we could linger a while longer without incurring her ire."

A thoughtful expression came over Elfhild's face. "You know, I have never seen Mistress Sa-li get angry, except when she is playing a role."

"She is very dramatic," Nurma stated, the twinkle in her eyes belying the gravity of her voice.

Elfhild raised an eyebrow. "When is Mistress not dramatic?" Laughing, she shook her head.

"We could walk around the manor and take the long way back, if you would like," Nurma suggested after they had shared a laugh about the theatre instructor's antics.

"That sounds lovely. I have only been off the school grounds a few times since I got here."

They walked for a few moments in silence, traveling northward on the path which made a long semi-circle around the manor house, farmyard, and school. Even though the month of October was more than halfway over, many of the trees still retained the greenness of summer, their leaves untouched by any trace of red or gold. Elfhild had learned that the trees in this region of Nurn did not turn color until late October or early November, and even then the hues of their leaves tended to be muted. Autumn here was far different from what it was in Rohan, where the forests became a rich canvas of gold, orange, scarlet and dark green when the days grew shorter and the nights longer.

"I think that Mistress Sa-li will be pleased with our report on the fabrics available at the merchants' fair," Nurma remarked, breaking the lull at last. They were now traveling past the farmyard, which was unusually quiet, for most of the farm laborers were involved with the hunt or participating in the athletic competitions. To the south lay the manor; the school to the east. "So many beautiful gowns and robes could be crafted from the bolts of cloth offered by Fânurmi and Dayora. There were a few smaller booths that had a decent selection as well."

"I doubt that my character will get to wear anything beautiful," Elfhild muttered, still ruminating upon the orange fabric which had been denied to her. "Princess Shahúlla is clad in rags for most of the play."

"You would look lovely in anything, whether it was covered with rips and tatters, or bedecked with precious treasures," Nurma remarked, and her words caused Elfhild to blush.

"Oh, Nurma, you are too kind!" Elfhild pressed her hand to her heart.

Nurma humbly lowered her head. "I but tell the truth."

Suddenly feeling bashful, Elfhild struggled to find something else to say. "Well, Shahúlla might not have any pretty dresses, but she does have magic." A sudden thought entered her mind, and she gave voice to it. "Say, why does Shahúlla's magic seem so different from yours?"

"Because she is a character in a play," Nurma stated drolly, chortling at Elfhild's glare of annoyance. "While the princess did learn much about the mystical nature of the world from a wise mentor, she uses a magic artifact to bend the forces of nature to her will. The power she wields is not her own, but rather that of the ancient elven smiths who forged the artifact in days of yore."

Elfhild thought about Princess Shahúlla and her magic ring, a gift given to her by the elven sorceress who befriended her in her time of need. "Are such artifacts common?"

"There are any number of disreputable merchants in Turkûrzgoi who peddle relics which they claim are imbued with magic or enchanted by spells. Protection, prosperity, health, good fortune, true love – even immortality – are some of the supposed benefits that these charms will bestow upon their owners. However, objects of true power are exceedingly rare, and it is doubtful that either you or I would ever encounter one." A thoughtful expression crossed Nurma's face, and she tapped a finger to her lower lip. "But then again, who knows what fate shall bring us?"

Elfhild paused upon the path, the breeze stirring her hair and skirt as she stood before the rear gates of the School of Industry. "I suppose that is a mystery that only time will reveal."