They had taken the road at last.
Or had it only seemed to Nin that it had taken long? Maybe because eyes were fixed on her and questions were in those eyes, which she could not answer. She would have wanted to answer them! But there was just a huge nothingness in her mind, a bleakness, she did not like. She felt numb, dizzy, overcharged. Sure, the lady-knight Vana was kind and gentle and the knight in training – from the clothing – named Brondgast seemed alike. There seemed no hostility in Anorast’s answers and he had been her fellow initiate. Nin sincerely thanked her for her kind and welcoming intention.
But it all passed her ears like through a thick veil. There was something between here and the others, something she could not lay hands on, but she felt it, like a disconnection.
It was good to move forward. Yet, Nin yearned for a horse of her own again, being independent, free to let her thoughts wander and maybe to find where she had been, what had happened to her, what all this meant…
But time for rest and thought would be another time – as time for loneliness. The knights had to stick together and to move forward.
Far behind their group, two persons followed them from so afar, that even the elves could not see them. One was the man who had brought Nin to the village the day before, The other was a woman with fierce look and a scarred face. Her name was Janaris. A month ago, she had been caught stealing in the inn where Nin played the flute at that evening. The keeper had been about to hit her, when the musician he had hired for a few evenings, interfered and paid for the damage. The women had starting to talk and gotten familiar after a few days. Janaris stole for her companion, a rough man named Klohil, but who stayed with her despite her scars. When talking about the past, Nin told that she had been a Mithril Knight – one of the few things, she had nothing to be ashamed about. Janaris listened eagerly.
Years and years before, her father had been on trial for robbery, brigandry, rape – maybe he was bad man, she did not know – to her he only was her dear father who came home in the evenings to her wake her mother, who had often been too “sick” to get up all day. He fed little Janaris and brought her toys – beautiful toys, which children had given him for her, he told and as she had been waiting on the earthern floor of the hut the rest of the day, tearing her mother’s dress and crying to wake her up, she was always happy when he came. He warmed the food and gave mummy her medicine from those strong smelling bottles – and after she got that medicine, mum woke up and laughed and sung and sometimes even got up and walked and danced around in the house – albeit never straight, she really had to be very sick. Janaris loved her father. Sometimes, it took him longer and she had to wait for days and mother without her medicine could get very angry sometimes and yell at her girl and throw one of the empty bottles, and Janaris hair got filthy and smelly, before he father ever came back.
One day, the men came. “Sent by the steward of Gondor.” they said, but Janaris did not know what a steward did and who he was. The men had huge horses and fair cloaks and swords of cutting steal and at least one did not look like any man she had ever seen before – there was nothing filthy in his hair, which shone like gold. Their clothes were clean and some of them wore rings of beautiful fashion. Her father was taken away and it took her mother days to even realize that he was gone. Janaris was 11 by then. One of the men came back to tell them about the justice of the West and the knights as guardians of the realm and their duty. The words seemed fair, but she did not understand. She only remembered the name.
“Mithril Knights”.
The man in armour took her to the local leather-maker to live and work there. Her mum was too “sick” after all, even a knight could see that. It was hard work and little love. During the first week, one day, she dropped a pot of chalk from a shelve on her face. It burnt terribly and she was scarred ever after. But worse than that she was hit – for spilling such an expensive solution which was needed for the work. The healer helped her a bit and taught about the poisons you use to make leather, But her face was devastated forever.
Shortly after that, she was told that her father was sentenced to death. Then, she cried for the last time in her life.
Years later, she could not believe her ears, when she realised the simple sentence Nin had said. “For a while, I was a Mithril Knight, but I shall no return to that life.” From there, her plan had ripened. But of all this, Nin remembered no more than of the death of her horse or the battle.
That night, Janaris had made a plan. And taken the next two weeks on executing it thoroughly. A plan of revenge and gain. She did not leave an inch of space to Nin, not a second unobserved.
In the group she followed, Nin was still silent, feeling the trot of the horse and wondering, wondering all the time.
And while she was not speaking, she heard Erinhue’s words about memories and felt the concern, they had about the bard sweating – but for the moment, she did not speak, questioning herself, how such a seemingly little trouble could worry such powerful knights. Because of Erinhue and the berserker on a battlefield, she remembered not more than of Janaris.