"The task is far beyond my abilities, noble Chamberlain Nobo. I simply cannot do it!" The eunuch wrung his hands, the motion bringing a frown to his fellow who sat across the table from him.

"You must, honorable Guli. What happened is most unfortunate, but there simply is not enough time to find a replacement." Nobo hid his irritation under a calm, placid mask, but he was rapidly becoming perturbed at the other man's obstinacy. "You can do it, Guli!"

"Noble Chamberlain, I do not ask many favors, but this time I implore you. Speak with Mistress Juna, and convince her to choose someone else! Surely she will listen to you!" With an exertion of will, Guli managed to steady his trembling hands and fold his long arms over his rounded stomach. "I cannot replace the late Mistress Miral, the greatly beloved Teacher of the Novices! As Treasurer of the School of Industry, my expertise lies in financial matters, not in teaching remedial work to peasant maids from foreign lands!"

"Guli, there is no one else! It is beyond my understanding why you are so reluctant." Nobo shook his head. "You are knowledgeable in many subjects, as well as patient, kind, and devoted to the School of Industry – just the sort to teach these students!" Nobo paused, his gaze boring into the other man's eyes. "We have discussed this far too long. As you know, you have no choice in the matter. Mistress Juna has appointed you as Teacher of the Novices until a replacement can be found!" That should have been enough to quiet the other man's protests, but Nobo knew that Guli was unwilling to let go of the subject. Nobo's dark brown eyes flashed a warning, which either Guli did not see or chose to ignore.

"My lord, could you not persuade Mistress Juna to keep the current arrangement until a more appropriate teacher can be found?" Guli's high-pitched voice shrilled out a torrent of words as he clasped his head in his hands. "The Teacher of the Apprentices is doing an admirable job of teaching both her class as well as the novices."

Nobo sighed heavily. "This is hardly a suitable arrangement, Guli. The School of Industry has more students now than ever before, and when the two classes are combined, the environment becomes too busy and chaotic to be beneficial for education."

"To tell you the truth, I am afraid to take the position." His eyes filled with fear, Guli licked his lips nervously. "I remember what happened to poor Mistress Miral… How do I know the same thing will not happen to me? What if there is someone who wants the position of Teacher of the Novices so badly that they are willing to murder any rival?" Looking rather ill, Guli rubbed his slender hand over his forehead and swept away the sweat that had beaded there.

"What nonsense, Guli!" Nobo snorted. "Mistress Miral was not poisoned! She died of a stomach ailment, a condition which had long troubled her." He reached for a dainty cake, then changed his mind and put the pastry back down on the tray. "You are making the mistake of believing gossip."

"It is not gossip that Miral died, noble Chamberlain. She is dead and buried in the village cemetery. Who would have thought that a thing like this could happen! Such a young woman, so pretty, and admired by all who knew her!" Shaking his head, Guli sighed heavily, his soft, plump body sagging. "Just four days ago, the esteemed teacher was in exceptionally good health. I saw her before her last meal; she was smiling and happy and looking forward to teaching this new group of students. We talked for a while, and then she went to her room, where she took the evening meal – chicken with cherry sauce on a bed of rice and almonds. No sooner had she finished than she complained of a terrible stomachache and called out for someone to help her. She quickly grew worse and worse until she died. Someone wanted her dead, and that person is still running loose in this household!" Guli shivered uncontrollably and added in an afterthought, "I can never bear to eat chicken with cherry sauce and rice and almonds ever again! I almost perish at the thought of it!"

"Most honorable Guli, I have been very patient with you, but my patience has its bounds." Nobo's voice was stern. "The healers determined that it was Miral's ailment which caused her death. Besides, you need not worry about being Teacher of the Novices for long. As I told you before, Mistress Juna has said that this position is only temporary until a new teacher can be found."

"I know that is what she said, my lord, and while I do not like to contradict you, we both know that few are educated so well as I." Though Guli's voice was pleading, it was tinged with a trace of smugness.

"Ah, so you admit that you are well educated!" Nobo chuckled and wagged his forefinger in the other man's face. His mood quickly changed. "You truly are afraid, are you not, Guli?"

Guli looked down sadly. "Yes, noble Chamberlain. I know that it is silly, but I cannot help it."

"Yes, of course it is silly," agreed Nobo. "I might give some credence to the idea if there were anyone who had a reason for killing Mistress Miral. She had no enemies as far as anyone knows." His expression grew more mournful. "She died as a result of natural causes, not murder."

"We cannot be so sure of that." Guli looked down at his bejeweled fingers, wishing this conversation had never taken place. "Perhaps I am mistaken in thinking that the murderer is someone who wanted the poor teacher's position. Perhaps someone killed her because of some grudge." He shuddered and shook his head.

"If you want to believe that, there is no one in all of Arda who could convince you otherwise." Nobo scowled, his usually calm, placid manner giving over to frustration. "Let us finish our tea now. Your presence as the new Teacher of the Novices will be required in less than half an hour. My day shall be a busy one as well, for I will be giving the Lady Goldwyn a tour of the household and the villa."

"It appears that I have no choice in the matter, so even though I am unwilling, I will attempt to do the best I can." Guli let out a long, plaintive sigh and nervously squeezed his fingers together.

"You will be an exceptional teacher, Guli, and all the students will love you." Nobo reached across the table and clasped Guli's arm.

"Do you really think so, my lord?" Guli looked hopeful. "Your good opinion makes my heart soar like the flight of a joyous bird in the spring."

"Of course, honorable Guli... it is a difficult thing for others to please me, but you usually do." Nobo gave Guli's arm another reassuring squeeze.

"Thank you, noble Chamberlain." Guli bowed his head, his face relaxing in a smile.

In spite of Nobo's encouraging words, Guli was unsure of himself. He was sweating profusely and wished there had been enough time to take a bath and change his clothing before going to the classroom. The yellow caftan showed dampness under the arms, a condition that he found embarrassing. Before leaving his chambers, all he had time to do was apply his cosmetics, and as he looked at himself in the mirror, he felt his mood brightening. It was easier to brave the world when you looked your best.

As Guli crossed the garden between the manor and the school, he smiled as he saw a flash of gold as the sun glinted off the metallic scales of the goldfish in the pond. The pigeons were feasting on the grain that the servants tossed out, and the doves cooed softly from the branches. Shakh Esarhaddon loved beauty, and surrounded himself with it. Guli would rather rest in the garden, but he had been assigned an unpleasant task and must be about it, and so he continued on to the school. He felt his anxiety return, growing with each step that took him closer to his destination. Mistress Juna never should have demanded that he teach this class! The trepidations that he felt were almost more than he could bear! He put his hand to his forehead. He must calm himself, or he would appear to be a fool in front of the novices.

Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, Guli walked through the open door of the classroom. "Good afternoon, Master Guli!" a chorus of female voices greeted him. He looked around the room, expecting to see Headmistress Juna, but she was not there; instead, Assistant Headmistress Akeya and several of the senior apprentices were giving instructions to the new students. How relieved he was that Akeya had already prepared the class for his arrival! He would have to buy both Juna and Akeya some trinket when next he visited the Great Bazaar of Turkûrzgoi.

"Most honorable Treasurer Guli, I regret to inform you that Mistress Juna is not feeling well and felt it best if she remained in her chambers," Akeya explained, her head lowered. "I have employed the assistance of some of the senior apprentices to help with the class."

"Assistant Headmistress, is the august lady ill?" Guli asked worriedly, instantly remembering the tragic last meal of the late Teacher of the Novices. He felt his stomach clench and waves of shuddering nausea roll across his belly. What if there was a poisoner on the loose, and he was the victim this time?

"No, Master Guli." Sensing the treasurer's distress, the Assistant Headmistress quickly tried to assuage his concerns. "The lady suffers from one of her frequent headaches brought about by eyestrain. As we all know, the only thing that can help them is for her to have the drapes pulled and sleep in a room that is totally dark."

"I am indeed sorry to hear that she does not feel well." Guli felt the impulse to rub the small emerald ring that he wore on his right forefinger. The mere act of stroking it always seemed to relax him, but he was reluctant to do that where the students could see him. "Give my regards to the dear lady and tell her that as soon as it is possible, I will come visit her."

"Yes, Master Guli." Akeya bowed her head.

Mustering up his courage, Guli walked to the head of the class and looked over the classroom. The novices stood at attention behind their desks, awaiting his orders. "You may be seated," he told them, and watched as they lowered themselves to the carpeted floor. "New students, this will be your longest and most important class of the day, for in it you shall learn how to read and write, how to complete basic mathematical equations, and how the great events of history have affected Middle-earth over the long ages. As an introduction to reading and writing, you will learn to write your names in Tengwar. The words you write might not make sense to you yet, but tomorrow you will start learning the alphabet, and before long, you will be able to read and understand what you have written today. The rest of you will continue your studies from yesterday."

As she listened to Guli's words, Elfhild felt a sense of cautious enthusiasm. The prospect of acquiring new knowledge intrigued her, and she was thrilled that soon she would be learning how to read and write. She remembered when she had been taken to Minas Tirith, and a scribe had recorded her name in a ledger. As she watched the scribe at work, she had been fascinated by the process of writing—the act of dipping the quill into the inkwell; the highly controlled, intricate movements of the writer's hand; the feather as it bobbed and weaved along the page; the strange symbols which appeared upon the parchment as ink flowed forth from the nib. Truly this was some form of magic, to take the words which one heard or the thoughts which one had and make them appear in written form upon a page for the learned to read. To while away the long hours of marching, she had often entertained fantasies in her head, some of which involved writing a book about her travels—a wild notion, given the fact that she was an unlettered peasant. But perhaps one day she could turn these idle dreams into reality.

Moving between the rows of desks, the senior apprentices supplied each student with a jar of ink, parchment, pen and rags. While the more experienced novices worked on their own writing, the apprentices showed the new students how to dip the tip of the pens into the inkwells and form the letters which comprised their names. A statuesque girl with a head of curly brown hair paused at Elfhild's table, leaning down to inspect her work. "You are an apt student, off to an auspicious beginning, but you still do not quite have the art of holding the pen correctly. Let me show you how." She took Elfhild's hand and guided it to make a curve in a loop. When the letter was finished to her satisfaction, she released Elfhild's hand and squeezed her shoulder. "Very good! With a bit more practice, you can write your name without any assistance from us."

Elfhild smiled up at the girl, blushing at the admiring look that she saw in her dark brown eyes. She felt a thrill course through her being as she basked in the acceptance of her fellow student. As the apprentice moved on to another desk, Elfhild turned to glance at Elffled, for she wished to share her tiny triumph with her sister. Elffled gave her a smile of encouragement as she worked on practicing her own letters.

Work in the classroom fell into a pattern for the next hour, with the new students practicing writing their names and the rest of the novices reviewing what they had been taught by Mistress Miral before her unfortunate illness. After Guli had determined that the class had spent enough time exercising their skills, he announced that it was time to begin the study of mathematics. He brought out a strange looking wooden tablet that had been scored with a series of grooves; in these grooves were placed round beads, which could be moved up and down in the slots. "This device is called an abacus, and is used to assist in making calculations," he explained. After demonstrating the use of the abacus to the Rohirric students, Guli showed them the notation of numbers in the writing system of Mordor. Once again, the more experienced novices tackled far more complicated challenges than the newcomers, reflecting the differences of skill between the two groups of students.

After an hour engaged in mathematics, Guli proclaimed that it was time for the study of the past. "It is prudent that you learn the history of the land where you will dwell, as well as the history of Arda, which is the name of the world of which Middle-earth is a part." He held up a thick volume whose black leather cover was adorned with beautiful gold embossing. "For those of you who have been with us longer, you will recognize this sacred tome as Volume One of The Circles of Arda, a collection of many volumes which contain a true and undisputable account of the history of Arda, from its inception in the days before Time, to events of great import which have transpired in more recent years. While the account which I relate today will be a review of previous lessons, this may be the first time that many of the new students have heard these tales. Sadly, I can do little more than tell you all an abridged version of this marvelous work, for it would take years to study all the tomes in The Circles of Arda."

While Elfhild and Elffled knew that they dwelt in Middle-earth, they had never heard of Arda. Did that mean that there were places other than Middle-earth upon Arda, strange lands of which they had no knowledge? Suddenly they felt very small and humble, tiny specks of dust in a world far more vast than their simple imaginings. Desperate to learn more, the twins eagerly listened to Guli's lecture.

"Before the city of Turkûrzgoi was founded by nomadic herders, before the land of Mordor was formed by the tumults of the great fire mountains, before the very world itself even came into existence, there was Melkor the Mighty, Lord of the Earth and Master of the Fates of Arda, Most Powerful of all the Gods. The Lord of Mordor, or the Giver of Gifts as He is called by many in the South and East, was Melkor's greatest lieutenant in ancient days. While we love and worship the Lord of Mordor, we are to revere His Master as well. Of all the Gods, Melkor loved Arda the most. While the other Powers abandoned this world for the blissful pleasure gardens of Valinor, Melkor and His followers stayed behind to tend to the world and oversee its keeping. Melkor loved Arda so much that He nobly sacrificed Himself for its glory, pouring His essence into the very fiber and fabric of the world.

"Now, as I have said, Melkor was the most powerful of all the Gods," Guli continued, pleased that all of the novices were paying attention. "Every God had a power which was unique to Him or Her, but Melkor possessed all their powers, from Aulë's prowess in the forge to Tulkas' colossal strength and Oromë's skill with the bow. Unfortunately, not everyone was enamored of Melkor's many talents. Manwë, Lord of Winds, soon grew jealous of his kinsman, and began to scheme in the darkness of his mind for a way to destroy Melkor. He began to poison the minds of the other Gods towards Melkor, portraying Him as a villain, a rebel, and an upstart. And because of Manwë's persuasive ways, the others slowly began to hearken unto his words.

"One day, all of the Gods assembled to make a great Music, out of which Arda would be created. Melkor was the most talented musician, talented in every instrument, and capable of composing everything from vast, sweeping symphonies, to lively marches played on flute and drum, to the most sorrowful of melodies played upon the lute. All of the Gods sang together for a while in perfect harmony, but Melkor's song was one of such exquisite beauty that many of the Gods faltered in their singing to hear the splendor of His voice, while other Gods began to harmonize with Him. Ever jealous, Manwë tried to regain control of the chorus until the two conflicting songs filled the heavens with a riot of chaotic sound. In the heretical histories of the West, the sages write that it was Melkor who created disharmony in the Music. They were told these lies by the Elves, who in turn were instructed by the servants of the Valar.

"Melkor's voice rose up in a beautiful melody which far surpassed anything His simpler kindred could create. Manwë challenged his brother in song, singing a pretentious melody which was a pathetic impersonation of Melkor's own song. Two very different songs there were, a delicate melody which spoke of unbearable beauty and sorrow, and a strident march in which the drums thundered, the horns wailed, and the bell-sticks chimed wildly. The Timeless Halls of the Gods shook with the combined power of these two songs until the Music came to its awesome finale, and thus Arda was created in the midst of chaos."

Although Elfhild and Elffled found Guli to be a compelling storyteller, they were not so sure about these accounts from The Circles of Arda. While they knew little of the affairs of the Powers, they thought that the tale seemed rather blasphemous, portraying the Gods as jealous and petty, and the Evil One and His Dark Master as tragic victims of their malevolence. Surely, these were the lies of Mordor, and not the truth! Was the very act of listening to such falsehoods a transgression against the Gods? But what choice did they have as students of the School of Industry? It was not as though they could walk out of the class and leave the land of Nurn. Mordor kept its prisoners under the lock and key of fear, and very few escaped from the watchful gaze of the Lidless Eye.

After Guli concluded his history lesson, the novices filed out of the classroom and proceeded to go to the weaving workshop. Mistress Ushbarmí gave the new students an enthusiastic greeting and then directed them to the looms which were set up around the brightly lit, spacious chamber. Unlike their earlier experience on the tour, however, the twins did not find solace from oppression among the looms, but rather another reminder that they dwelt in the land of Mordor.

"Here at the School of Industry, we pride ourselves upon the fine workmanship of our textiles," Mistress Ushbarmí began, smiling as she looked over the assembly of newcomers. "As I explained earlier, all of you will be creating woven goods for the villa, with the excess being sold at the marketplace in Turkûrzgoi. As you progress, you will be taught more complex weaves and patterns. These are not the only goals for this class, however. The war has given us another purpose, one far more noble." She clasped her hands together as a rapturous expression crossed over her plump face. "Your deft fingers will weave towels and bandages that will be used by the healers of the army as they tend to the wounded soldiers. In Nurn, everyone does their part!"

Elfhild suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Was she aiding the enemy by weaving these cloths? They would be used to staunch the wounds of the soldiers of the Dark Lord's armies… soldiers who took pleasure in slaying the brave men of Rohan. But she really had no choice, did she? To refuse would earn her a whipping. And did not all men deserve care when they were injured, regardless of which side they were on? What sort of cruel, petty person would deny a wounded man a bandage, or a cool rag to be placed upon the brow of one stricken by fever? If she were injured, she would want someone to comfort her and tend to her wounds. Was it wrong to extend the same kindness to others, even if they were enemies?

While Elfhild contemplated the intricacies of morality, Elffled reflected upon how strange it felt to be doing something so commonplace and familiar after many months of marching through the wastes. When was the last time she had worked at the loom? It had to have been back in the spring, before the clouds of darkness came from the East and covered the sky. As she wove the shuttle of plain undyed yarn over and under the vertical warp threads, her mind was flooded with memories of working beside her mother. The memories were so vivid that for a moment, she was certain that if she reached out, she could touch her mother's arm, feel the texture of the fabric of her sleeve beneath her fingers. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked several times to clear her clouding vision. She felt a warm tear escape and slide down her cheek to splash upon the bodice of her dress. Her mother lived only in her memories, and she would never see her again until Death came to claim her. Nurn was her home now, and the students and teachers of the School of Industry were her new family.

The first class after the noon meal was Mordorian Culture with Mistress Shireen. This class was a relatively brief one, focusing primarily upon the history of the School of Industry. Elfhild and Elffled learned that the school was modeled after the palace schools in Southern and Eastern kingdoms which trained both male and female servants. This made the school somewhat different from other Mordorian institutions, which tended to be religious, militant, or focused on specific trades. Though the education that the students in the School of Industry would receive was nowhere near as lengthy or comprehensive as that of the palace schools, still it would serve them in good stead and prepare them for their future destinies.

The next two classes were music and dance. Mistress Dariya, the music instructor, taught the Rohirric students a traditional Nurnian song about a poor boy who became a great soldier and returned home to a hero's welcome. Dariya's voice was high and lilting, and it was a delight to hear her sing. It was obvious that she loved music and was eager to impart her enthusiasm to her new pupils, most of whom immediately liked her. The other novices, who already knew the words of the song, sang along with their teacher, while those skilled with the lute, flute, drum, and tambourine provided musical accompaniment. The same small student ensemble played for the dancing class led by the lovely Mistress Linnet. After leading the class in a series of preliminary stretches, Linnet made her students practice their movements over and over again. Elfhild and Elffled tried their best to copy the more experienced dancers, but they found their own movements to be clumsy and lumbering.

While the first part of a student's day at the School of Industry was spent in the pursuit of a basic education or industriously engaged in labor, the remainder of the afternoon was much more relaxed, and students could choose which subjects they wanted to study. Depending upon the subject, students might acquire special permission to alternate between classes throughout the week. Mistress Juna had made an announcement regarding these secondary courses during the noonday meal, and encouraged the new students to consider their natural talents and abilities when making their decisions. The first choice which Elfhild and Elffled faced was between cooking with Mistress Saffron; herbalism with Mistress Me'arya; and needlework with Mistress Fariela.

"We should choose the needlework class," Elfhild suggested. "Both of us are quite accomplished in that skill, and it will be good to get back to making things." A morbid thought came to her, and she imagined being forced to embroider tapestries of the Great Eye in black and crimson thread with golden accents. Mentally shuddering, she hoped that the Mordorian influence would not be too strong in this particular class.

"We are also skilled in cooking," Elffled pointed out, reflecting upon their options. "If we take the cooking class, we can sample our assignments as we work on them." After marching for months on a constantly grumbling belly, she looked forward to making up for lost time by eating as much as she could whenever she could. "I also find the herbalism class intriguing. We already have some experience making salves from the knowledge that our mother and grandmother taught us, so we might do well there."

The two sisters debated the matter for a while before finally settling upon needlework. Perhaps tomorrow their choice would be different, since this part of their schedule was not chiseled out in stone.

When the twins entered Mistress Fariela's needlecraft room, Nurma gave them a warm welcome and expressed the hope that they would continue to attend the class during their days at the school. Elfhild remembered her earlier encounter with the senior apprentice, who had revealed that she was also a dollmaker—although perhaps there had been more implied in her words than was spoken aloud. There were dolls, and then there were dolls. Although some of the novices were young girls, Elfhild suspected that Nurma's dolls had other purposes besides being the playthings of children. As she worked upon her first assignment – a sampler of her work so that her degree of skill could be determined – Elfhild cautiously observed Nurma out of the corner of her eye, wondering what secrets lay hidden behind her sweet yet mysterious smile.

After the needlecraft class had drawn to a close, the twins were once again given a choice for the last subject of the day: martial arts with Mistress Zora, fine arts with Mistress Neshinara, or the theatrical arts with Mistress Sa-li. It seemed quite strange, after months of being ordered around, to be allowed the freedom to choose which classes they would take. Such liberty was rather terrifying, and they felt overwhelmed at the sheer number of crafts and trades one could learn at the School of Industry. True, it had never been their choice to attend an academy in Mordor, and in actuality they were prisoners who were being forced to labor for their enemies and discard the customs and traditions of their people for those of their oppressors, but still they could not help but be excited by the prospect of learning new subjects and skills.

"I have already made my choice; it is definitely the painting and illustration class for me," Elffled remarked, remembering all of the colorful paintings she had beheld in the chamber reserved for the school's artists. Perhaps one day, her own work would hang from the walls of the school.

"Do you remember that book the art students were making for Shakh Esarhaddon's mother? It was so beautiful, with each of the pages more lovely than the next." As Elfhild imagined that affectionately crafted tome, she envisioned herself designing such a wonderous book one day. After all, if she wrote an account of her life and travels, the addition of artistic calligraphy and illumination would greatly enrich the text. A book with no pictures sounded rather dull.

"I wonder if such exquisitely decorated books are common," Elffled mused. "The scribe's ledger in Minas Tirith was certainly quite plain in appearance."

"I am sure if I take the art class, I shall learn more."

Elffled gave her sister a curious look. "I would have thought you would rather take the theatre class."

"To tell the truth, I am torn between the two," Elfhild confessed. "While painting illustrations for illuminated manuscripts holds great appeal for me, I also feel the call of the stage. And," her cheeks colored slightly as she felt her voice waver, "if we take different courses, our paths will diverge." It seemed so strange to be doing something without Elffled, and she felt pangs of guilt, as though she were somehow betraying her sister. Surely she was just being silly. It would be beneficial for both of them to pursue their own interests, but after months of enduring the most horrific hardships together, it felt unnatural to be apart, even if they were in the same building.

A gentle smile upon her face, Elffled took her sister's hand and squeezed it. "Even if our paths do diverge, they will eventually come together again. Now I have an art class to attend, and the stage awaits your debut."