There was a cautious step heard in the hallway, and a knock on the door.
“Enter,” Parnard said, irritated at the interruption. He was still trying, and failing, to decipher the book Lillorthael the Minstrel had left for him in the Hall of Fire.
The door opened, and a tall elf entered the room. His windswept hair was flame-red and covered a high broad forehead, his clothing weather-stained; he wore an old hauberk, which he had brought from Mirkwood. His somber green eyes carefully scanned the expansive chambers. Four tall stained glass windows on both sides made the room bright and cheerful, and the summer’s light was pouring through them, creating streams of dazzling colors, green, yellow, and purple, which flooded across the white marble floor. A table, covered with the various implements for writing, stood in the center of the room. There were many plush chairs for sitting, but books were stacked upon all of their cushions, so high that some had tumbled over, and lay on the floor in knee-high heaps. Culufinnel’s wandering eyes settled on Parnard with a keen and searching glance.
“Ah, you have come,” said Parnard, smiling and laying the book aside. He motioned towards one of the chairs. “Just push those books off, and have a seat.” His visitor, however, declined it, and stood staring down at him boldly, his lip curled.
“Brother, I know what I am going to ask may be in vain, for we have not spoken much since our – er, little disagreement. But the House is in great need of your help.”
Culufinnel’s eyes flashed, and his nostrils flared a little, but he made no answer.
“You are surprised I asked for a favor,” Parnard continued mildly, gazing on him, “after our last encounter. Oh, I know what I ask is in vain, but I would have you know that Lord Belethoriel is commanded to find one of the lost soldiers of the House, Themodir. Nothing was said of the means of finding him, or the way he is to be rescued, if he is found alive. Now, it all seems very strange, that Lord Belethoriel would know the path so well, when he lay for years fettered in the prison of the Necromancer. Certain of the House think it is foolish to give a former prisoner of the Enemy such power, and troops to support him. I would not have our lordship deceived by artful speeches, yet I feel – unsure as to Belethoriel’s intent. I would not condemn an innocent, especially one that is a friend and rescuer of Lord Anglachelm, before we know all. You must go out from among us, and learn what you can, for we cannot shelter a snake within our midst. Yet I grieve that I must send you away. But still you must go out; for if we be not all faithful to each other, in whom can we trust? Follow Belethoriel’s trail, and when you find him and his men, tell them I sent you to them to help.”
“I would not go,” answered Culufinnel, doggedly. “But I would rather go, then listen to tales of your promotion thrown in my teeth every hour; I will go and seek out Belethoriel, and rove with his merry band in that forsaken land.”
“No, no, no, Culufinnel, my brother,” cried Parnard. “Do not be so free, and fly off like some half-crazed wildcat. You must determine if his purpose is true. Who knows,” he added, “you are a, hmm, smart fellow, with no small strength of arm. Perhaps you may be sorry that you were not more civil, when you have returned from this task: I have got a goodly sum of money put away, and I might set you up, in a position more suitable for one of your talents.”
“I will away,” said Culufinnel, in a tone less violent, but not less determined. The hopes of a better fortune which his younger brother held out to him, the boldness with which Parnard faced him – no doubt from his new position – the stern and reproachful looks of all the Valley-folk, and the regret of leaving every part of his old life of service behind, hardened his resolve, and made him that more willing to depart. His conscience, too, reproached him bitterly with how he had treated his brother, and the company of anyone, even a suspected traitor, was preferable to solitude with his own heart. “I shall be sorry if I ever hear the name of Parnard again,” he muttered.
“Well, well, scornful brother,” said Parnard, now offended, “I hope you may do better for yourself, and control your temper; but I doubt it, for you would never listen to my advice. Get you gone, varlet; the sooner you leave, the sooner you shall find Belethoriel.”
Culufinnel turned sullenly away, and walked out of the room without a word of good-bye.
“Hurry up!” Parnard called after him. “Your feet move like a couple of crushed snails!” Thus speaking, he returned his attention to the open book before him, the old feelings of doubt and embarrassment washing over him anew, as he struggled to make sense of the ancient language.
