Daerdan happily closed the lid on the heavy, iron bound box and drew the hasp into place. He looped in the intricate lock and, with a sigh of relief, clicked it closed and slid the key into a pocket. He looked at Tudang who was pouring them each a goblet of wine. “The hard part should now be over. Once the Dwarves take this from Annuminas, our part in the affair is done.”
Tudang nodded as he handed the Captain-General a goblet, and both men sat at the table in the courtyard just outside the Glinghant gardens, where the contents of the locked box had been found. “You’d never guess what was in there just by looking at it, would you?”
The captain shook his head, then took a long slow sip. “No, Marshall, you would not, and that is the point. Tucked into a small wagon with a collection of mundane wares, this should find a quiet road to Thorin’s Hall.”
The two sat quietly, finishing their wine, each in their own thoughts about the contents of the box. It was Tudang’s men who found the unusual object in a hidden side-chamber in the Glinghant ruins, overgrown gardens and fountains overlooking Annuminas. Daerdan then studied the history of the gardens and discovered that a Dwarf had engineered the ingenious water works. The incomplete records named the engineer, but otherwise only mentioned his untimely death. Nothing was said of the artifact he left behind, nor the location or purpose of the hidden chamber. An inscription on the object included the Dwarf’s name, and from this, Calenglad decided it was best to send the thing to Durin.
Across the plaza ruins, the lively voices of a pair of Dwarves approached. The Men stood and waited for their guests, and a young man attending them, to arrive. Tudang’s posture stiffened as he recognized Cutch as the fellow following the Dwarves Ulfar and Skithi. The trio climbed the short set of stairs to the courtyard. Tudang intercepted them before they arrived at the table, sharply announcing, “We would prefer this to kept just between the Durin-folk and the Wardens of Annuminas.” The words were spoken to the Dwarves, but the obvious omission was intended for Cutch. The young man slowly examined the Marshall up and down with an indifferent gaze, then casually turned and sauntered away. Ulfar, with surprise on his face, watch him depart and then looked inquisitively at Tudung. Skithi, however slid a sly, calculating glance between the Marshall and the young fellow.
“He is neither Dwarf nor Ranger”, Tudang explained silkily, “and thus should have no interest in this.”
Ulfar searched the Marshall’s face, sensing that this was more about how Cutch was perceived than what he might have lacked. The Dwarf only nodded, as the obvious question seemed beyond the topic at hand: a Dwarven artifact discovered hidden in the ruins of the capitol of the old, fallen kingdom of Arnor.
Cutch followed the steps down again, and wandered about the plaza, staying out of earshot of the conversation hovering around the table and its locked box. The plaza was a place he had often visited during his stay the previous year with the Dunedains. The city of Annuminas was a crumbling ruins, obviously far beyond the means of these Rangers to restore, even though they worshipped the past that the fallen buildings and cracked streets represented. As he idly toed a loose stone, Cutch realized how much more content he was travelling with the Dwarf trade caravans than he had been with the Wardens, of whom many had treated him with at least cool tolerance, at best with indifference, and at worst with suspicion. He had no idea why he was regarded so, but he no longer cared. His life had moved on, for now.
The following day, the caravan gathered up to leave, much earlier than Cutch expected. The huge auroch-draw wains were joined now by a small, plain cart pulled by a donkey with Skithi squatting at the reins. After the little wagon took its place in the middle of the caravan, Ulfar loaded the locked box and then carefully concealed it amongst the other, uninteresting sacks, covered baskets, and small casks.
“I still say we should take the most direct path”, Skithi grumbled. ‘Up and over Men Erain to Dwaling. Barandalf is too open, too dangerous.” The rest of the Dwarves joined in the conversation with many disagreeing with Skithi, but enough in agreement that no consensus could be reached. Ulfar, tired of the discussion, grunted and sighed as he finished arranging the carts load. “All right! We will take the switchbacks over the ridge, although it will work the animals far harder than necessary. But, if your suspicions should prove worthless, Skithi Blackhand, I’ll not hear another word from you about our road home!”
Skithi, with a tight-lipped crooked smile, nodded agreement, and soon the caravan moved out, winding down the streets of the city ruins and out the east gate. Along the way, Dwarves and Men shared their friendly farewells, and Cutch, at his position as rear guard, rode last out of the city, nodding politely to those who would return the gesture; he was glad to be leaving. The switchbacks began immediately beyond the gate, wandering back and forth across the western slope of a tall ridge. The view was spectacular, but the road a tough pull for auroch and donkey.
With the help of Dwarves pushing the wains and little wagon, the caravan finally made it to the top of the ridge by nightfall.
Crowning the ridge, the ancient Numenorean building named Arthobel presided over a broad courtyard large enough for the caravan to camp. Lit torches around the plaza welcomed the procession, revealing the expectation of the Dwarves arrival, and before the wains and little cart had circled, a Dunedain emerged with excited news.
“Lucky for you that you came this way!” Glirion announced as he trotted up to Ulfar. “A troop of bandits crossed the Brandywine River from Barad Tharsir and would have surprised you on the open ground. They were spotted from the High Kings Landing and a patrol was dispatched. They fought, and although outnumbered, our Wardens held, and the bandits retreated.”
All Dwarf eyes turned with respect to Skithi, who stood smugly on the carts seat, arms crossed, savoring the moment.
“I’ll have to concede your wisdom, Skithi”, Ulfar admitted, offering to shake hands.
Cutch sat quietly on his horse, and with a knitted brow thought, ‘As if he knew….’
