Fire from the Sea (In Tharbad: Volume One)

7

The Seven Gates was a small tavern tucked down a side street to the west of the main square, or Venturers' Square as it was known. It was a long, narrow place with benches against the walls behind long tables forming a central aisle. Maids brought large tankards of ale from a hidden cask room to thirsty loggers, hunters, carpenters and smiths. The air was thick with smoke, dimming the already inadequate lamplight.

Enthor had explained that the place was a favourite of those Haladin who were on varying friendly terms with the Númenóreans. Even so, it had been portrayed as a place of ill repute by the innkeeper at The Maiden's Leap, who had advised him to avoid it if he could.

"And what of The Hill of Tears?" Siriondil said as they found seats. "I passed it today on my travels."

"That's a place you would do well to stay clear of."

"It seemed to me a quaint place. Little more than a log cabin."

"At one time it stood alone in the forest until gradually the town grew around it. Othrad Graw used to be the only road from the northern forest to the docks. In times past it was frequented by Númenórean loggers and mariners but now it's run by Haladin for Haladin. Pay a visit to The Hill of Tears only of you want trouble."

"I shall heed your advice. Meanwhile, what do you recommend I partake of in this fair establishment?"

"You can order anything you wish for," Enthor told Siriondil, "as long as it's ale."

Siriondil balked as Enthor dabbed the cut beneath his eyelid. "Please Enthor, the wound must be left to heal."

Enthor put his hands to better use by reaming out his pipe. "What is this stuff anyway?"

"Merely a simple unguent of menelluin." Siriondil patted his messenger bag. One of many that I keep with me." He looked up as a vivacious young serving maid appeared at his shoulder.

"What have you been up to, Enthor?" she said and gestured towards her eye. She slid clusters of overflowing tankards onto the table.

"I was trimming my eyelashes and I slipped."

The maid gave him a wide grin and moved to the next table.

Siriondil pulled a tankard towards him. "You seemed to know each other. You and this Drambor."

"I used to work with him. The Town Guard. We used to call him Door."

"Oh?"

"Because he looked like one."

Siriondil gave a short laugh. "Did you report our encounter with this Door and his nasty little friend?"

"The Guard would only say we were trespassing."

"Which we were."

"Besides, I don't want Drambor. I want the ones who he works for."

"And who might that be?"

"I don't know. The Council? The Guild?"

"And then?"

"I shall demand recompense."

"I wish you all the luck of the Valar."

They knocked their tankards together and took long draughts. The day had been fine but humid and the tavern was stuffy. Enthor put his tankard down and wiped the suds from his moustache.

Siriondil touched his forearm to stop him from dabbing the skin around his eyelid. The wound was attracting stares and the odd comment.

"The unguent will keep the cut clean but it will not stop any bleeding." Enthor stared at him for a moment then again picked up his pipe.