The humid, salt-tinged air of Pelargir hung thick in the narrow passageways of the old port city. In the deep shadows of a shuttered tavern opposite the stables, Minluzîr spotted her first. A flash of white wool near the mouth of a narrow, unlit alleyway adjacent to the stables. It was the woman from Minas Tirith. She adjusted her cloak, her movements stiff and visibly trembling.
She looked fragile, Minluzîr thought. And so very young. Minluzîr was uncomfortable with his duty, with the fact that he had been saddled once again with the brutish and dim Haradrim Ghu’nas, and with his Corsair masters blaming him for failing to find Delioron in the first place.
The woman glanced toward the tavern, her eyes widening in sudden, naked panic as she locked eyes with Minluzîr. She turned on her heels and bolted into the pitch-black alley. Minluzîr glanced at Ghu’nas beside him, but the brute was staring off into the distance, blissfully unaware that the woman had even passed by.
”It’s her!” Minluzîr grunted. ”The woman from Minas Tirith! She saw us and ran to the alley. Over there!”
”Stupid girl!” Ghu’nas hissed. ”We take her now, quiet-like, before we lose her in the back alleys. Let’s go!”
Keeping their heads low, the two stalkers slipped away from the tavern wall. They moved with practiced, quiet urgency, crossing the cobblestones without drawing a single glance from the lazy garrison guards. They plunged into the mouth of the alley, eyes straining against the heavy darkness.
The alley was a claustrophobic throat of stone, choked with the smell of rotting wood and stale rain. Minluzîr could hear the frantic, uneven patter of her boots fading around a sharp bend ahead.
”Fast and quiet”, Minluzîr whispered, slipping a hand beneath his cloak to loosen his dagger in its sheath. ”Grab her mouth. Don’t let her scream.”
They rounded the corner at a fast stride, expecting to see the woman cornered against a dead end. Instead, the alley was empty. Just a stack of old wooden crates and rain barrels.
A sudden panic clutched Minluzîr by his throat – a trap!
Before he could even open his mouth to warn Ghu’nas, a shadow detached itself from the darkness behind the crates. A long-fingered, iron-grip hand slammed over Ghu’nas’ mouth from behind, cutting off his breath. There was a sickening, muffled sound of a dagger sinking into flesh. Ghu’nas’ eyes went wide and vacant. His knees buckled instantly.
Minluzîr gasped and reached wildly beneath his cloak for his blade, but the shadow was already upon him. The man moved like a phantom born of Pelargir’s rain and fog.
A heavy boot shattered Minluzîr’s ankle, sending a white-hot spike of agony up his leg. He dropped his dagger as he stumbled backward, losing his balance against the stone wall.
”Sorry about this, friend”, said Demrîng. ”Nothing personal, but you know how it is.”
Demrîng drove his dagger upward beneath the man’s jaw. Silence returned to the alley, save for the lapping waves of the river in the distance. Demrîng wiped his blade on Minluzîr’s cloak. Radawen stood very still nearby.
”Well now, Lady Radawen”, Demrîng said slowly. ”Now we leave this city.”
