Esarhaddon looked down at the missive in his hands, his eyes taking in the official seals of Lord Veryatur, Governor of the Western Province, and Lady Ninurissa, Governor of the Southern Province. A courier had delivered the letter to his villa earlier that morning, the first day of November. Seldom did the governors collaborate with each other or send out jointly written letters, for they were mainly concerned with the affairs of their own provinces and ensuring that the demands of the Lord of Mordor were met in a timely fashion.

"So the matter is dire indeed," Esarhaddon thought to himself. While his recent illness had caused him to fall somewhat behind when it came to tidings from beyond the borders, he did possess some knowledge of the situation. Caravans bound for Mordor were being attacked by brigands as they passed through the wastes of Northern Harad, and these raids were causing great disruption to the supply chain. Travelers in the wilderness always had to worry about the threat of brigands, but the war had made the situation far worse than it had been in recent years. While only the winds and the rocks and the wild desert shrubs truly controlled the wastes, one of the seven tribes of the Mushma Confederation did claim the region. With so many men fighting in distant lands, it was becoming increasingly difficult for the tribe's warriors to keep the raiders in check.

During the feast for his youngest son, Esarhaddon learned that an ambassador from the Mushma Confederation had approached Lady Ninurissa about the situation in Northern Harad, and the Governor of the Southern Province had called a council to discuss these troubling tidings. Invoking the alliance between Harad and Mordor, the seven tribes of the Mushma Confederation requested aid from Barad-dûr to help deal with the bandits. A fortnight had passed since that initial council, and now the governors of both the Southern and Western Provinces were sending out joint summons to a second council which would be held at Turkûrzgoi in three weeks' time.

As Esarhaddon continued reading the missive, his eyes widened at what he saw written upon the page. The Lord of Mordor had authorized the commanders of the garrisons closest to the Harnen Pass to organize a small force of Mordorian Guards which would be sent to Northern Harad. Since this was a time of war, the merchants of the Southern Merchants' Council were expected to bolster the numbers of the host with guards from their own houses or mercenaries in their employ. The purpose of the council in Turkûrzgoi would be to determine the exact number of troops which would be sent to Northern Harad, and how best to aid the tribesmen of the Mushma Confederation in their plight against the caravan raiders.

"Out of all the members of the Southern Merchants' Council, the House of Huzziya has the most men at the ready to dedicate to the cause," Esarhaddon mused to himself, thinking of the great numbers of guards who were employed by the slave trading establishment. "Of course, these men will need a competent leader to guide them through the wilderness, someone knowledgeable of the caravan routes which pass through the region."

Esarhaddon laid the missive back down upon the table before him and stared out the window at the garden beyond. Although his gaze had fallen to rest upon the Rose Kiosk, in his mind he was looking out over the rugged terrain of the wastes, with its low, rocky hills and sandy scrublands dotted with wiry shrubs and tufts of hardy grasses. He imagined himself riding upon Ka'adara, his beloved chestnut mare, whose powerful hooves could make short work of long distances. How the desert landscape would become a blur of tan, brown, sage, and pine as she galloped onward, kicking up great clouds of dust in her wake. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the hot sun beating down upon his head, the wind blowing through his hair.

It had been years since Esarhaddon had last visited Harad. While his family called the fertile lands along the River Harnen their home, he was quite familiar with the wastes which lay further to the east. According to the oral histories which had been passed down through the family, his ancestors had once dwelt in this harsher region, where they had been nomadic herdsmen. How different was his life from that of his ancestors! They had left the wandering life long ago, settling in villages and towns along the river. Family tradition did not record what their first occupation was after coming to the settled places, but it was known that soon after they had taken to the "civilized life," they had become merchants. In those early days, they were traders of livestock and goods along the River Harnen, but as their power and influence grew, they branched out into the caravan trade. This bold venture had agreed with them and their purses, and in time, they had become quite wealthy.

As Esarhaddon journeyed in his memories through the vast lands of the South, he felt the sudden urge to leave everything behind and go off on another adventure. Perhaps the love of the trail was in his blood, and he longed to answer the same call which his ancestors did when they traversed the wastes.

But he had only just returned home a little over two months ago, and he had been away for much of the spring and summer. He had been severely wounded and come close to dying several times on the journey from Gondor to Nurn, and he wanted to enjoy the peace and pleasure that life could offer. He wanted to spend time with his family, and watch his son Mindin grow from a baby into a toddler. Then there was his new concubine Goldwyn. While he sensed that her feelings for him were still conflicted, she seemed to be trying to adapt to life in Nurn, though she still grieved for her sons. He hoped that she would someday grow to love him, and that they would have many children together. Though some poets claimed that absence magnified the love one felt in one's heart, he did not wish to test this concept by leaving for Northern Harad.

"Perhaps it is for the best that I stay home." Esarhaddon sighed with disappointment as he looked back down at the missive. "After all, this is a matter for soldiers and sellswords, not merchants."

Suddenly he remembered the new caravan guard whom his brother Erkanan had recently hired… a man named Daungha, who had served in the war. Perhaps he might be interested in becoming a part of the expedition to Northern Harad. After all, he was a veteran with battlefield experience. Such a man might be a worthy choice to represent the House of Huzziya.

Of course, Esarhaddon had not completely ruled out the possibility of journeying to Northern Harad and fighting brigands in the wastes. Perhaps he would go on the expedition and represent the House of Huzziya himself. He had much to think upon ere the day of the council in Turkûrzgoi.

Above all things the Dark Lord desired order, and the School of Industry was meant to be a reflection of the highest power in the land. Unless stricken by illness or commanded to do some task by their superiors, students were required to obey strict schedules which dictated every moment of their day. Even the free time that they were allocated was part of the schedule, and these periods were subject to various rules and regulations. This was the life to which Elfhild and Elffled had become accustomed, with every day as predictable as the one before it.

And then came Kabtu, that mischievous force of chaos. Defying his father, his nurse, and perhaps even Sauron himself, Kabtu was determined to spend his days in the pursuit of merriment and childish adventures. Since the day that Elfhild and Elffled had served as his maids, the little boy had sought out their company whenever he could. He often interrupted their evenings with his sudden appearance, begging them to play with him ere his maid persuaded him to return to his quarters. The twins found Kabtu's shenanigans amusing and often indulged him with a game or two.

Sometimes Abaru would accompany his little brother on these visits, lingering to speak with Elfhild and Elffled after Kabtu had scampered off to play. While Abaru's duties to Shakh Sandana kept him away from the villa for long periods of time, he had been visiting more frequently since Mindin's birth. The twins knew that he missed his home, and so they always tried to fill his ears with as much news and gossip as they could. Of course, they were limited in what they could tell him about his father's household, for they were mostly confined to the school and seldom served in the manor. They enjoyed hearing Abaru's stories about Shakh Sandana's estate, and learning about the aged vintner who lovingly tended to his arbors, delighted in poetry and song, and treated even the lowliest of his slaves with kindness and compassion. After seeing Sandana at the feast and meeting him by the stream, the twins now had a face to give the man from Abaru's tales.

Both Elfhild and Elffled noticed that Abaru seemed more at ease now that his father was no longer ailing. His father's illness had weighed greatly upon his mind, and without that terrible worry upon his shoulders, Abaru smiled and laughed with far less restraint. Never quite certain how much freedom they had when speaking with the master's son, the twins were cautious in their questions and gentle in their teasing. They always inquired about his day, and he asked them about theirs. As their encounters became more frequent, they began to ask Abaru more about himself. One day they asked him what his favorite pastimes were, and he revealed that he enjoyed riding, falconing, sword fighting, and reading. He then confided that his dream was to be a soldier in the Mordorian Army, but his father was against the idea.

"Why does he not want you to be a soldier?" Elffled asked, curious.

"He wants me to be a merchant and stay here in Nurn," Abaru replied, his voice filled with disgust. "I want to make my own decisions about what I do in life, and I want to be a soldier, travel, and have adventures."

A wry smile flickered over Elffled's lips, and she gave him a sympathetic look. "Sometimes you cannot always get what you want in life."

Abaru's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Master, I never wanted to be a slave, but here I am." A nonchalant shrug of her shoulders hid the bitterness she felt within her heart. "Perhaps it is my lot in life to be a slave, and your lot to be a merchant."

"I am going to be more than a merchant!" Abaru exclaimed, his voice rising with emotion. "I will do great things when I am in the army, work my way up to be an officer, maybe even be a general someday!

"Master, we can plan all we want, but that does not mean it will come true." Elffled tried to choose her words carefully. She did not want to antagonize Abaru but she did not want to be dishonest with him. He seemed like a sensible boy, but he was still only a beardless youth.

"Fleda, do you not have dreams? Things that you want to do in life?" His earnest eyes met hers.

"Having dreams is a risky prospect, but I would like to rise above my current estate to one more to my liking." Elffled did not say freedom, because she doubted that true freedom existed in a world ruled by the Dark Lord. But she had seen that contentment, and even happiness, were indeed possible, and she wanted that for herself.

"Perhaps one day both of our dreams will come true," Abaru remarked, his expression thoughtful.

This budding friendship with Esarahddon's sons had allowed Elfhild and Elffled to explore parts of the villa which they had never seen before. The day after the picnic by the stream, they returned to the fields and open land which lay to the west of the manor house. Abaru and Kabtu brought nets with them, and the twins watched from the bank as the brothers competed with each other to see who could catch the most minnows from the shade dappled water. Kabtu had wanted to put one of the minnows in a jar and take it back to the manor, but Abaru had turned his nose up in disgust, pointing out that the garden pools were already teeming with goldfish. "Our father paid a lot of coin for some of those fish, and he would not appreciate common minnows keeping company with his prizes," Abaru admonished his little brother.

After the boys had tired of fishing, Abaru had led the small group towards the villa cemetery. Elfhild and Elffled helped Kabtu pick flowers which grew along the roadside and the edges of the fields, and soon they had gathered a colorful bouquet of white chamomile, blue asters, yellow field marigolds, and purple sage. Although the twins had learned much about the laws and customs of Nurn in the Mordorian Culture class, burial practices had not been one of the subjects which Mistress Shireen had discussed with her students. As they climbed up the wooded knoll which led to the cemetery, neither Elfhild nor Elffled knew what to expect. When their eyes beheld the small, stately mausoleum at the crest of the hill, they felt a sense of solemn wonder at the magnificent house which Esarhaddon had built for the dead in his family.

"How different this tomb is from the burial mounds of Rohan!" Elfhild remarked, gazing upon the ornate marble building.

"My father built the family tomb in the style of the marble crypts of Umbar," Abaru told her. "The Umbarians who are of Númenórean descent house their dead in mausoleums such as this. Since both my mother and Kabtu's mother were of Umbarian descent, my father determined that the family tomb would be built in this fashion as a way of honoring their heritage."

Elffled turned to look at Abaru. "That was very thoughtful of your father to build the tomb as a memorial."

Abaru shook his head. "Nay, he had the building constructed shortly after they were wed, as it is the tradition of the Black Númenóreans to begin preparing for death whilst still in the bloom of life."

"A curious custom," Elfhild reflected, once again reminded of how different their cultures were from each other. Despite these vast differences, however, the dead were treated with honor and reverence.

After he and Kabtu had paid their respects, Abaru took the twins to the farmyard to introduce them to his friends. Mûmak, the eldest son of the farm overseer, gave Elfhild and Elffled a hearty welcome and showed them around the barn and various outbuildings, bombarding them with random bits of information he thought were of interest. A stocky boy with a cheerful disposition, Mûmak possessed a confidence which bordered on bravado, and his tongue wagged faster than an excited dog. Nedim, Abaru's other close friend, was the complete opposite. He was a tall, bashful boy who stumbled over his own words and stared down at the ground a lot. Although he was too shy to say very much, Mûmak and Abaru more than made up for his silence.

Elfhild had enjoyed visiting the farmyard and seeing all the animals. Even though she was being trained to be an educated servant of many skills, she was still a farmgirl at heart. Within the stone walls of the school, she often felt separated from the natural world. The courtyard garden was contained within four walls, and plants were kept pruned back to maintain order in a small space. Even the much larger manor garden was a place of structured beauty, where flowers grew in beds, water flowed in stone fountains, and nature was forced to bend to the will of man. The only animals Elfhild saw were the household cats, tame birds, and a lizard or two. There was something comforting about being amongst cows, sheep, chicken, ducks, and geese. She enjoyed watching them mill about in the farmyard and fields, and even took comfort in the familiar, earthy scent which lingered around their enclosures.

While Abaru and Kabtu were entertaining companions, they could also be annoying nuisances, especially the rambunctious Kabtu. There were several occasions when Elfhild and Elffled had planned an evening with their friends, only to have their brief period of free time claimed by the whims of a bored and lonely seven-year-old. Elfhild wanted to practice her ribbon dance for "The Tale of the Dissatisfied King" and collaborate with her fellow actresses, while Elffled had finally summoned enough courage to ask for lessons from the students who practiced martial arts in the courtyard. However, pursuing their own interests could be difficult at times with Kabtu demanding their attention. They also worried that Kabtu's desire for constant play and amusement would cause tensions with his maid Unna, who was a staunch believer in rules and order. Unna outranked them, and they were loath to offend a superior.

It was now the first evening in November, and Elfhild was sitting upon a stone bench beneath the shade of the Rose Kiosk, waiting for her sister to come join her. The day was warm, but not overly so, and there was a slight chill in the air. Even though school was over for the day, the art students remained in their studio to work on background washes for some of the sets which would be used by the theatre class. Elfhild hoped that Elffled would be finished soon, for the days were becoming shorter, and she wanted to enjoy as much time outside as she could before it was time for supper. Mistress Juna had given the students permission to use the family garden that evening, and Elfhild knew that her sister would enjoy the change of scenery.

Elfhild thought she heard someone calling her name, and she looked down the garden path to see Kabtu's maid approaching. She quickly rose to her feet, bowing as she waited for Unna to pass by, but the maid paused in front of her.

"My young master wants to speak with you," Unna said.

"Mistress, I am honored." Elfhild bowed her head. It would seem that she would not be meeting her sister in the garden this evening after all.

Leading Elfhild through the garden, Unna ushered her through the door to the manor house. As they walked through hallways with beautiful tile-inlaid walls and exquisitely embroidered tapestries, Elfhild felt awestruck at the splendor and wealth that she beheld. The manor house was decorated far more richly than the school, which seemed shabby and run down in comparison. Unna was a fast walker, though, and Elfhild had little time to admire her surroundings. After ascending a staircase, Unna led her to one of the rooms on the second story. A knock on one of the intricately carved doors brought an exuberant Kabtu to the entryway, and Elfhild found herself being pulled by the hand into the little boy's room.

The chamber was painted a creamy warm white with red and yellow trim around windows which looked out over the roadside approach to Esarhaddon's villa. Toys of all shapes and sizes filled the keyhole-shaped niches in the walls. There were soft cloth toys stitched in the likenesses of animals and wooden figurines of Haradric soldiers. Some of the toys even came from Dale, a far distant land to the north; these toys were the most elaborate of all, for they had been made by dwarves. Many of these playthings were mechanical and more than a little bit magical, although few in the manor would ever admit that, since Esarhaddon frowned upon magic.

"Hild, I am glad you came to see me." The little boy beamed up at her. "Would you like to see some of my toys?"

"Certainly, young Master," Elfhild replied.

Feeling a little out of place, she followed Kabtu as he walked to one of the niches that held his toys. The only time she had ever seen playthings that fine was once when a traveling toymaker had passed through the village during a fair. Kabtu took a small box from a shelf and brought it to Elfhild. "I thought you might like to see this one." He pointed to a lever at the side of the box. "You wind this and it will make music."

"Like this, Master?" she asked as she gingerly started winding the crank.

"Yes," he replied enthusiastically. "Like that!"

Elfhild was amazed as a tiny dwarf popped out of the box and began dancing to a tune she had never heard before. "Oh, how clever!" she giggled, clapping her hands.

"My uncle gave this to me on my fourth birthday. I would like to give the little dancer a dwarven name but I do not know any."

"Hmmm..." Elfhild's brow furrowed. "I am afraid I do not know any dwarf names either." She tried to remember all the old stories and legends which she had been told as a child, but the only tale about dwarves she could remember was the one about the dwarves who killed King Fram of the North. She did not know the names of those who did the evil deed, and if she did know, such ill-omened appellation would be inappropriate for a child's toy.

"They have a strange tongue and curious customs, but they do make the cleverest toys." Kabtu put the music box back and looked for another toy to show her. "Oh, this one!" he exclaimed as he held a heavy object in both hands. "This catapult is one of my favorites. Here, I will show you how it works."

Elfhild watched in fascination as the boy lined up a row of toy soldiers on the other side of the room. When he returned to her side, he plopped down next to her and loaded a small pebble into the catapult's bucket. Winding up the catapult's gears, he set off the mechanism and flung the stone across the room.

"What a remarkable toy," Elfhild gasped with wonderment. "I have never seen anything like it before!"

"Oh, it is!" Kabtu beamed. "I like to set up targets and knock them down with pebbles."

"May I try?" Elfhild asked, and when Kabtu gave his approval, she loaded a pebble into the catapult's bucket and then sent it flying.

"Hild, you are good at this!" Kabtu clapped his hands after Elfhild's well-aimed stone hit the target.

"Only because you are a good teacher, Master." Elfhild grinned at the boy as she reloaded the catapult. They watched as the stone went sailing through the air and struck the target with enough force to knock it over.

"My turn! My turn!" Kabtu shouted, impatient for Elfhild to bring back the pebble. He spent quite a bit of time sighting on the targets before he loaded the miniature bucket. He was as serious as though he really were an army engineer who was attempting to bring down a city wall. His aim was true, and the toy catapult hurled another stone successfully at the target.

"You have an outstanding aim, Master," Elfhild remarked approvingly.

"Abaru taught me how," Kabtu announced proudly. "I wish he were here." A look of sadness came over the little boy's face. "He has gone back to Shakh Sandana's villa, and will not be returning for several days."

Elfhild gave the boy a gentle smile. "He will be back before you know it."

A gloomy mood seemed to have come over Kabtu, and his whole demeanor shifted. "I am afraid that Father will go off and leave as well."

"You mean to Harad?" Elfhild asked softly.

Kabtu nodded. "I am afraid he will leave, and something bad will happen to him. What if he gets killed by brigands, or bitten by a snake? Or... or..." His eyes suddenly went wide with terror. "What if a roc carries him away in its claws?"

"A roc? Do you mean one of those enormous birds from Haradric legends?" Because The Tale of the Dissatisfied King was inspired by multiple myths and stories from the South and East, Elfhild had learned a bit about the fearsome roc. In fact, her character in the play had a connection to the giant birds, and summoned them at several pivotal moments throughout the story.

"Yes, yes!" Kabtu vigorously nodded his head up and down. "They are terrible monsters that live in the mountains and hills. They are larger than houses and have great wings, sharp talons, and beaks that rip open flesh. When a roc gets hungry, it swoops down and eats people!"

"I doubt that such a horrible fate would befall your father," Elfhild told him, trying to sound reassuring. "Besides, you do not even know for certain if he plans to go to Harad."

"I really hope he does not," Kabtu sighed. "I like birds, but rocs are scary!" His face suddenly brightened. "Would you like to see my pet?"

"I would love to!" Elfhild was taken aback by the sudden change in conversation, but glad that Kabtu's mood had improved. She wondered what sort of pet he had, whether it was something ordinary like a cat or a dog, or something unusual like a turtle or a lizard.

"Then you shall!" Kabtu wove his fingers between hers, and tugging on her hand, he led her to a small chamber adjacent to his room. Elfhild blinked her eyes, her vision adjusting to the dimness. Though the room had a lattice screened window, it was difficult to see because the evening had grown quite dark, and there were no lanterns to brighten the space.

"Loose arrows!" a voice suddenly cried out. "Bolster your resolve and hold the line! Make them pay! We will live to see the dawn!"

Elfhild instinctively ducked. Her eyes darted around for an unseen archer, but she saw no one. She held her breath, expecting to feel the sting of a bolt. Then she heard Kabtu giggling.

"It is just my parrot," Kabtu explained, walking over to a green, yellow and blue bird sitting in a golden cage. Squawking a stream of profanity, the bird hopped over onto Kabtu's outstretched arm. "Babgaa is his name, and he was once owned by an old soldier who had fought many battles," he told her proudly. "He knows many bad words. Mistress Unna does not approve of him and calls him 'that old scoundrel.'"

"I do not care if Babgaa's tongue is foul; his plumage is beautiful, like something from an illuminated manuscript," Elfhild exclaimed.

"He is a very handsome fellow," Kabtu agreed. "But I do not think he wants to learn any new words."

At that moment, they heard the respectful cough of Mistress Unna, who was standing in the doorway. "Kabtu, you must give Hild leave to depart for supper. The students will be eating soon, and it would be very cruel of you to deny her a meal."

Sighing with disappointment, Kabtu returned the parrot to his cage, and then gave Elfhild a hug. "Promise me you will play with me again!"

Elfhild answered him with a smile. "Certainly, Master. Anytime you invite me, I would love to visit with you."