"The Broken Trail"

Part One
North of the Havens of Umbar
3202 S. A.

The cold waters of the bay glistened as a pale gem in the scattered moonlight. Like a faint beacon the small reflection shown in the distance, winking from the far shore of the inlet. A broken storm churned in the wet sky, flashing bits of silvery light through a wind blown drizzle. Within a fold of the encircling hills around the bay of Umbar Eärindur sat gazing at the glistening water in a dark, pensive mood. The narrow, tubular cave that sheltered him opened with a jagged crack and a dim view of the landscape yawned before him.
           The young man sat within the tight space with his knees drawn up to his chest and his back against the rough-hewn rock. A low mound of glowing embers smoked next to him, though it served little more that to keep his pipe lit. With his arms folded around his knees and with his head turned to face the opening he beheld the wet landscape descend away. The far waters shimmered and it became evident to Eärindur that it shown not like a radiant beacon but as a grey pearl placed upon the throat of a corpse. He suddenly looked away, crushing the palms of his hands to his eyes.
           Pain radiated from his left shoulder blade in a burning, dull ache. A deep laceration ran in a long tear down his back and as he leaned forward he felt the scabs crack and warm blood rise to the surface. The arrow that had racked him had been intended to kill and it had only been some act of fate that had saved his life. Now, alone and forgotten, his body convulsed and he sobbed into his hands. Eärindur cried long and hard and as he wept visions of his past danced within his mind, taunting and mocking his pain.

 

Bright sunlight played along the gilded sills of crystal windows. Ceaseless music floated along the cool ocean breezes that drifted through the high marble halls. Ladies laughed and children played upon the green lawns that stretched above the seaward cliffs that held his Father's shining palace. It was a place of beauty and gentle life, a harbor of peace and quiet strength. A refuge of loving security, and Eärindur hated it. As he strode into this fathers audience chamber resolve and arrogant rage twisted his strong face.
           "My son," began his Father as Eärindur strode purposefully to the dais. "What troubles you on such a lovely day?"
           "This place! This whole place! Idleness and quiet! It has nothing that I crave." Eärindur punctuated his tirade by stomping the heel of his thick leather boot upon the marble floor. "I have grown tired of the place. I want adventure! Power and glory is what I lust after! The World, Father, the World has all that I want. All of it! I hate the indolence of this place! I want the spoils of the earth laid out before me on a platter. A platter that I have won by my own sword! This palace has nothing that I want!"
           "It is true that our home here has not many of the things the world has to offer. There is much strife and fear in the outside…"
           Eärindur cut him off, "and much glory and power! That is what the World has! And I want it!" Striding up the bottom steps of the dais he suddenly drew the sword that swung from his hip. "This is all I need! This and the inheritance that I have earned! I want it father and I want it now! I will be gone before the sun fails!"
           "You are need here, Eärindur." Implored his father.
           "I am not!" The young man slammed his sword back into its scabbard. "I am needed elsewhere. There is a band of men that has called for me and I will go to them. Give me my birthright! I demand it!"
           "This is no small thing that you ask. But I will not hinder you." The Father turned and nodded to an attendant standing nearby and several men scurried from the room. Seeing the servants leave the room Eärindur turned to go. "Wait my son." Pleaded the Father as he rose from the throne and descended the steps. "Wait just a moment."
           "What is it father?" Eärindur stood with his back to the dais, impatiently waiting.
           "Just this." The Father slipped from his finger the family's Signet Ring and offered it to Eärindur. "Please take this. You are a part of this House. Keep the ring. I plead that you keep it close to your heart. Show it anywhere to anyone and they will know you. They will offer assistance."
           "I need no assistance! Suddenly snatching the offering Eärindur swung around and stalked from the hall.
           As he passed the threshold beautiful blue eyes drew his gaze to a small alcove beyond the yawning portal. Glancing to the side Eärindur beheld Lorwyn, a young maiden only a year younger than he and fostering within his Father's palace, standing with glistening, pleading eyes. The prince snapped his face away from the young woman and stormed away. He needed nothing that was to be found here!

 

The rain came suddenly harder and a curtain of water now formed over the crack to the outside world. Eärindur's back ached and he longed to stretch it. The rain however kept him closeted within the tight space and he doubled over feeling the wound open again. There was, of course, no one to tend his injury. He was alone. But this wound upon his back was troubling for he could not reach it and was forced to endure the slow healing. So the rain came down and he drifted between waking and sleep. A dream from his past suddenly came to him.

 

The shine of a burning homestead glowed in the background as the ashes of ruined lives fell like dirty snow around the brigand band called the Black Adder Clan. Eärindur took a long pull from a bottle of sour wine and as the red liquor dribbled down his chin, several giggling wenches were shoved in his direction.           "Drink your fill my friend!" Shouted Gahmûl, chieftain of the Clan. "Take it! Take what you will! This world is ours!"
           Cries of suffering mixed with the roaring inferno as the homestead was consumed and the family was burned within. However, it was the sound of cold steel ringing as it cleared a scabbard that caused Eärindur to snap his head around. Through his swollen, bleary eyes he beheld the father of the homestead thrust down upon his knees before Gahmûl. A razor sharp blade was placed upon the man's throat and the chieftain laughed.
           "Into oblivion now you retch! And may you find the darkness of death kinder than the Black Adder Clan!" The sword sliced and a fountain sprung forth.

 

Eärindur awoke so quickly that he bashed his head upon the low rock ceiling and swooned for a time under the force of the blow. His senses now exploded and the cave suddenly felt unbearable. Crawling to the jagged opening Eärindur stood when he reached the crack. Rain and bits of sharp hail pelted him, as he stood transfixed within the portal. His mind raced and his past came to him once again.

 

Heavy hands slapped down upon his shoulders and Eärindur was yanked from his bed and hauled into the night. He too was now upon his knees before Gahmûl as the entire Clan encircled them. A bright moon lit the area though a dark forest fenced the clearing and encased the group.
           "Your pitiful existence is at an end, whelp!" The Chiefton stalked around Eärindur with his hand upon his hips. "Upon review, your time with this Clan has been an utter waist. Your ability to finish someone is sadly lacking. Not a single kill can be credited to you. What little help you provided in the way of gold is now gone, used up. What part have you played in any raid? What stomach do you have for sword work? None!" Shouted Gahmûl as he backhand the young man to the ground. "You are a failure and a drain upon this Clan." The Chiefton strode once more to stand in front of Eärindur. "His sword!" He commanded and the weapon was delivered to him. "You are banished! And because you have witnessed the working of this brotherhood you are now a dead man walking!" Gahmûl suddenly lifted the young man's sword and broke it over his knee. After casting the broken halves to the ground the Chiefton continued, "You have at least earned a head start, though you need to clearly understand, once the sun rises you are a marked man. The next time anyone of us sees you, you will be dead. Now go!"
           Eärindur snatched the broken blade by the pommel and after jumping to his feet blindly dashed into the night, heedlessly crashing through limb and leaf. "Who will save you now?" Echoed within the trees and as the young man dashed away an arrow was loosed by one from the Clan. The missile stuck Eärindur high upon the shoulder and though it knocked him flat, it was a glancing blow and he was able to scramble to his feet and continue on. Jeering laughter haunted the woods and drove Eärindur on mindlessly.

 

Lifting before his face the broken sword Eärindur beheld what had become the symbol of his doom and fresh panic shot through him. Lightning suddenly blanketed the crack that the young man stood within and he was startled into action. Stuffing the broken blade back into its scabbard he flung the hood of his cloak over his head leapt down the slope that lead away from the cave.
           "I can save myself!" He shouted into the night and the rain suddenly came harder.

 

Hidden within the darkness of the trees a tall shadow, cloaked and hooded, stood gazing at the young man as he bounded into the night. Black arrows bristle from the quiver strapped upon the shadow's back and with the tip of his short, re-curved bow he pushed the hood from his head. Silvery moonlight illuminated a grizzled, weatherworn face. Deep lines creased his scruffy, bearded complexion. With the intensely of a hungry wolf, the shadow stood unblinking, watching as the young man disappeared into the darkness.