The Spoils of War - Part 6
Here is the next part of this. Enjoy!
Inzilanî stared around her, dumbfounded. This was the source of the smoke that had hung heavily over the northern horizon for days. It had to be. It was such a change from the forest they'd been riding through - even with the occasional hisses from the Dark Lord's "gifts" to the nimîr - that coming upon it the way they did was almost a physical blow. The sight of such devastation was enough to pull her from the depths of her own misery for a moment.
The forest simply… ended; or, at least, the living forest ceased to exist. Most of the trees still smoldered, bare and abbreviated limbs rising pitifully into the air from the ground or from where they clung futilely to charred trunks, the smoke everywhere still rising and giving the ash-covered landscape a nightmarish quality. And in every direction Inzilanî looked, there were the signs of battle. Gouges in the dirt and darkened pools of what could only have been blood abounded, weapons, sometimes visibly charred, lay strewn and abandoned, although the bodies had vanished. Inzilanî felt her hackles rise slightly; were the legends true? Were the nimîr nothing but dreams that evaporated like steam when their bodies died? Perhaps that was why they slept like corpses, staring sightlessly up at night? And where were the urkim? They, she knew all too well now, did not simply evaporate when dead.
Borongil made a soft sound, and Inzilanî recognized it immediately as a keen of pain and loss. How many of his friends, his comrades, had he lost in this huge, obscene battle in the midst of an inferno? Was it any wonder that Pharazôn and his warriors pursued the urik still so relentlessly?
There was nothing she could do to comfort him except lean her forehead into his back and tighten her hold around his waist. War was horrible. The urkim were monstrous, vicious and obscene. She felt him pat her hands at his belt, and knew that he at least understood her sympathy.
The sound of the horse's hooves moving through the ash and debris was muffled, as if the whole world were saddened by what had happened here. Inzilanî quietly chanted a prayer to the spirits to renew this place quickly, that this evil not be allowed to last or scar what should have been and should have remained untouched. In a very quiet part of her heart that refused to be silent, she rejoiced that she had taken some small part in avenging this horror; and the very thought bubbling up into her mind was enough to make her stomach twist again.
The desolation went on for the better part of the morning, stretching in stark black and grey and white for as far as the eye could see. She was grateful that Borongil evidently had no intention of stopping to examine the damage, because the sadness of this place was overwhelming.
Finally, however, the darkness that was living trees once more closed around them, and even the horse seemed to pick up the pace, grateful to be away from the death that had happened behind them. Soon, they came to and began following a well-used path through the forest, and the horse sped again. Inzilanî imagined that maybe they were drawing near a nimîr city or town, as she began to hear birdcalls that were unlike any birds she had heard in the area. She tried to pull back into herself, retreat from the life that was once again surrounding her, but it was harder now.
The trees seemed to thin a bit, letting light fall through to the ground. Inzilanî began to hear voices, some of them singing, some of them calling back and forth. She looked around, but didn't see a single nimir. Her curiosity piqued, she craned and stretched, in case they were all in front of them yet, only to see nothing out of the ordinary. But this was anything but ordinary, and the hair on the back of her neck was starting to rise in dread. Then she felt Borongil chuckle, pat her hands to get her attention, and then point - up.
Her mouth dropped open; nimîr live in the trees?
Several of the larger trees around them had platforms nestled into their branches, and faces - all of them smiling - were peering down at them. No wonder the loss of the forest had made Borongil so sad! She looked around and found a few more faces looking down at them. Would she have to climb up into one of those trees too? Is that what Borongil called home?
The path they were on curved around a huge boulder, and then Borongil brought the horse to a halt. When he slipped down from his mount and held up his hands to help her get down as well, Inzilanî found herself at the mouth of a huge cave, with stone doors thrown wide open and waiting.
"Borongil!"
Inzilanî stared at the beautiful woman who came running from the darkness within the cavern to leap into her keeper's waiting arms. No wonder he didn't need a bed comfort slave, if that was his mate! She folded her hands and trained her eyes to the ground to give their very passionate embrace its due privacy, reminding herself harshly that she was a slave, not a nimir. She was a spoil of war, nothing more or less. It was enough that she had been fed and clothed and treated with kindness while in his keeping.
No doubt, her service would be overseen by the beautiful nimir lady from now on, who would not want her anywhere near her mate. Inzilanî understood that completely. Borongil was a kind and noble person; she was a fool for having thought that he could have cared about her when such loveliness awaited him at his home.
"Inzilanî?" Her owner's voice called to her, and she owed him her undivided attention. She took two steps toward him and then stopped the proper distance away, looking up at him for a short moment to show that she was his to command, and then looked back at her bare toes on the ground. He would make her understand what he wanted of her.
"Malheril," he said, and she looked back up briefly to see that he was indicating the lovely lady next to him. That must be her name, and it would be wise for her to remember it. Malheril, she rolled around a few times in her mind to affix it firmly to the face. Malheril would be obeyed without question or hesitation from now on.
But now, it was time to show her owner's lady the proper deference. She let her eyes meet those of the lady for just a very tiny moment, and then came to kneel in front of her with her gaze respectfully lowered. When the gesture of ownership wasn't given as it should have been, she looked up just long enough to locate the lady's hand and place it on her head, and when the correct time had passed, she put her face into the dust at the lady's feet.
The nimîr words flowed back and forth between Borongil and his lady, and Inzilanî forced herself not to listen. Even if she had understood what they were saying, it would have been disrespectful if she didn't turn her attention elsewhere. Her Umbari owner had taught her that lesson well, and she knew better than to want to repeat those beatings again. But the large hands of her keeper slipped easily under her arms, lifting her and hanging on again until she put her feet down to hold herself again. "Baw, Inzilanî," he said gently.
"Inzilanî?" The fingers that touched the bottom of her chin were even gentler than Borongil's had ever been, more than even Pharazôn's had been, and she found herself staring into eyes the color of a warm summer sky. Once more she discovered that the disdain she expected to see to be totally lacking, with shock and curiosity and shy friendliness present in its stead. Dark hair floated long over shoulders and down the lady's back. Confused, she whimpered and pulled away a little, looking to Borongil in abject apology and fear that she had offended. The lady did understand that she was a slave, didn't she?
Her keeper's hand came down gently on her shoulder, and Inzilanî froze instantly, truly frightened. What did he want? What was she supposed to do now? Had she made a mistake?
Again the nimîr words rattled in her ears, but then the lady did something that was completely outside Inzilanî's experience: she abruptly pulled her from beneath Borongil's hand and surrounded her shoulders, putting Inzilanî off-balance for a moment until she was leaning into the lady's skirts. The lady was… embracing her? What was happening? She turned and whimpered her fright to Borongil, not knowing what else to do.
Her keeper seemed to understand. He held up a finger while quickly spoken words fell from his lips that had the lady now obviously hesitating. Inzilanî turned a bit more toward him, giving him her full attention. He pointed to her, and to the lady, and then clasped his hands together twice. He tipped his head; did she understand? She gave a cautious glance up at the lady and then looked back at him in confusion even as she slowly offered up her hand. The lady's hold on her shoulders vanished, but Inzilanî's hand was immediately taken in a firm and gentle grasp.
Borongil nodded. "Na," he said, and then repeated his pointing to both her and his lady, then walked his fingers, and finally pointed into the cavern. Inzilanî followed his gesture, not exactly happy about entering into dark, unknown places. He touched her cheek to regain her attention, then pointed to himself as well as her, walked his fingers and pointed again to the cavern.
She wasn't entirely certain what he was trying to tell her, but she could only hope that it meant that he would be coming with his lady in taking her into the darkness. She nodded slowly. He held up a finger and walked back over to where another nimir had control of the grey horse to retrieve the bundles that had draped the horse's back. Tossing one over his shoulder, he put out a hand to her.
This wasn't the way a slave was to be treated, Inzilanî kept telling herself, but there was no way for her to remind either of these tall, beautiful, terrifying creatures of that. All she could do was put her hand into that of her keeper and turn her gaze to the darkness of the huge cave. Suddenly she wasn't sure which was worse: staying in the darkness, or living in the trees.
oOoOo
Inzilanî would have whimpered again, but she knew that it would do no good. Malheril was waiting, and Inzilanî knew what was wanted. Still, she had no idea why her mistress wanted her to take off her clothing; did the nimîr women do things… No. The look in her mistress' eyes showed no signs of that kind of desire.
She slowly pulled the tunic over her head, and then untied the drawstring on the trousers and stepped out of them. Malheril blinked as her eyes found the scars from the many bite marks that covered her chest, and then frowned and touched the leather bands at her wrists. Inzilanî sighed and untied them as well, then unwrapped the soft cloth that protected the sores. She bent to do the same to the leather and cloth at her ankles.
But she wasn't ready to hear Malheril gasp, or feel the very soft touch of the nimir to one of the less healed weals on her back. Inzilanî had never seen her own back, but she could imagine what it looked like. She'd seen the backs of other bed comfort slaves to the urkim. At the time, she had imagined hers was at least as bad, if not worse. After all, she'd lasted nearly two years with an uruk who often used to beat her until she was bloody and he thoroughly aroused before… She closed her eyes and swallowed hard to dismiss the memory. She was insecure enough in this very strange place, she didn't need to revisit old horrors.
That very gentle touch traced the worst of the scars - the one when the Umbari captain had nearly killed her with his sword while drunk - and then Malheril moved in front of Inzilanî and crouched to take her face between her hands.
Inzilanî frowned in worry, for the mistress' eyes were filled with tears. Why should she cry over hurts that were long healed, given to a slave as training or punishment? How could she tell this strange woman that those didn't matter anymore? Malheril spoke softly and yet vehemently, and her hands stroked back Inzilanî's hair. Whatever she was saying, the nimir woman felt it very strongly, but Inzilanî had no idea how to respond. So she stood, not quite shaking, waiting in dread for the next command.
She did stare, however, when she was led to a large vat-looking thing that was filled with steaming water, and Malheril pointed first to her, and then at the vat. Inzilanî swallowed hard. The urkim had preferred their man-flesh raw; did the nimîr cook them instead? Malheril dabbled her hand in the water, and it wasn't red or burned looking when she pulled it out. She beckoned, pointed and spoke, and somewhere in the tumble of nimîr words, Inzilanî heard, "tolo."
That word she understood.
Her new mistress wanted her in the vat.
Certain that she was going to be very sorry, Inzilanî climbed into the water and stood, looking at her mistress in frightened confusion, grateful that the water was only pleasantly warm on her skin. Then Malheril made a funny movement with her body, and then pointed at the vat; and Inzilanî stared in shock. She wanted her to sit in the water?
Then the long training kicked in. The mistress had told her to sit.
Inzilanî sat, grateful that the water was only up to her chest, her hands again folded in her lap as she awaited the next order. After a few moments, however, she released an involuntary sigh that spoke of the warmth penetrating her, easing those sores and hurts that still bothered her. Her mistress picked up a large cup and dipped it in the water, put her hand up to Inzilanî's forehead, and then dumped the warm water over her head, somehow managing to keep the water from Inzilanî's eyes.
Stunned and shocked, Inzilanî turned to glare at her, but found her frown answered with a gentle smile and hands that had a white paste spread across them that Malheril then worked into the dripping hair with firm fingers. Were the behavior not so odd, Inzilanî might have enjoyed it; the fingers worked the hair all over her head and seemed determined to keep any of the white stuff from slipping down into Inzilanî's eyes. When the cup dipped again into the warm water to rinse everything away, Inzilanî watched traces of black drip down her shoulders, imbedded in the white foam.
Oh. She still stank of uruk blood. She hadn't done a good enough job in the stream. She had offended the mistress.
She struggled to rise so she could prostrate herself at Malheril's feet in apology, but a firm hand at her shoulder held her in place in the vat, and then a finger wagged in front of her nose. Inzilanî knew that sign and stopped moving immediately. Her mistress wanted her to stay put, and she would obey.
Next, Malheril moved around the tub and to a small table where there were an assortment of small vials, chose one, and then poured some oil onto the water that, when heated, smelled of fresh flowers. Inzilanî's eyes flew open; she knew this scent! Long ago, in her village, she had collected the little purple flowers sometimes for her ammê. The sudden memory of a gentle smile and warm arms brought tears. She would never see that smile or feel the warmth of that embrace again until she had joined her ancestors.
Malheril had a soft cloth over her hand now, and wet it in the warm water and then began to wipe down those parts of Inzilanî's body that weren't below the surface of the water. It was a slow, soothing process that made Inzilanî feel very strange on the inside, so certain she was that slaves were not supposed to be treated this way! She was not a nimir child, but someone who had been won in battle and brought back to clean and do whatever else might be asked of her. Once again she found herself wondering if Borongil had informed his mate that he brought her a pet, not a slave.
It made no difference. She was beckoned out of the vat, dried with a very warm and soft cloth, made to put on strange, thin garments over which other, much finer clothing was to be worn. Her feet were pressed into thin slippers, and her hair combed out while Malheril clicked her tongue in dismay. Inzilanî couldn't tell if the mistress wished that her hair were longer or shorter; she guessed that she would discover this eventually - if she stayed that long, that was.
From the way Malheril held her hand, however, she had a feeling that her life had just taken another, very huge, turn.
Vocabulary (A) Adúnaic (S) Sindarin
ammê - (A) mother
baw - (S) no, don't
mae - (S) good, well
na - (S) yes
nimir - (A) elf
nimîr - (A) elves
Pharazôn - (A) Golden One
tolo - (S) come (imperative)
urkim - (A) orcs (nom. case)
uruk - (A) orc (obj. case)
Inzilanî stared around her, dumbfounded. This was the source of the smoke that had hung heavily over the northern horizon for days. It had to be. It was such a change from the forest they'd been riding through - even with the occasional hisses from the Dark Lord's "gifts" to the nimîr - that coming upon it the way they did was almost a physical blow. The sight of such devastation was enough to pull her from the depths of her own misery for a moment.
The forest simply… ended; or, at least, the living forest ceased to exist. Most of the trees still smoldered, bare and abbreviated limbs rising pitifully into the air from the ground or from where they clung futilely to charred trunks, the smoke everywhere still rising and giving the ash-covered landscape a nightmarish quality. And in every direction Inzilanî looked, there were the signs of battle. Gouges in the dirt and darkened pools of what could only have been blood abounded, weapons, sometimes visibly charred, lay strewn and abandoned, although the bodies had vanished. Inzilanî felt her hackles rise slightly; were the legends true? Were the nimîr nothing but dreams that evaporated like steam when their bodies died? Perhaps that was why they slept like corpses, staring sightlessly up at night? And where were the urkim? They, she knew all too well now, did not simply evaporate when dead.
Borongil made a soft sound, and Inzilanî recognized it immediately as a keen of pain and loss. How many of his friends, his comrades, had he lost in this huge, obscene battle in the midst of an inferno? Was it any wonder that Pharazôn and his warriors pursued the urik still so relentlessly?
There was nothing she could do to comfort him except lean her forehead into his back and tighten her hold around his waist. War was horrible. The urkim were monstrous, vicious and obscene. She felt him pat her hands at his belt, and knew that he at least understood her sympathy.
The sound of the horse's hooves moving through the ash and debris was muffled, as if the whole world were saddened by what had happened here. Inzilanî quietly chanted a prayer to the spirits to renew this place quickly, that this evil not be allowed to last or scar what should have been and should have remained untouched. In a very quiet part of her heart that refused to be silent, she rejoiced that she had taken some small part in avenging this horror; and the very thought bubbling up into her mind was enough to make her stomach twist again.
The desolation went on for the better part of the morning, stretching in stark black and grey and white for as far as the eye could see. She was grateful that Borongil evidently had no intention of stopping to examine the damage, because the sadness of this place was overwhelming.
Finally, however, the darkness that was living trees once more closed around them, and even the horse seemed to pick up the pace, grateful to be away from the death that had happened behind them. Soon, they came to and began following a well-used path through the forest, and the horse sped again. Inzilanî imagined that maybe they were drawing near a nimîr city or town, as she began to hear birdcalls that were unlike any birds she had heard in the area. She tried to pull back into herself, retreat from the life that was once again surrounding her, but it was harder now.
The trees seemed to thin a bit, letting light fall through to the ground. Inzilanî began to hear voices, some of them singing, some of them calling back and forth. She looked around, but didn't see a single nimir. Her curiosity piqued, she craned and stretched, in case they were all in front of them yet, only to see nothing out of the ordinary. But this was anything but ordinary, and the hair on the back of her neck was starting to rise in dread. Then she felt Borongil chuckle, pat her hands to get her attention, and then point - up.
Her mouth dropped open; nimîr live in the trees?
Several of the larger trees around them had platforms nestled into their branches, and faces - all of them smiling - were peering down at them. No wonder the loss of the forest had made Borongil so sad! She looked around and found a few more faces looking down at them. Would she have to climb up into one of those trees too? Is that what Borongil called home?
The path they were on curved around a huge boulder, and then Borongil brought the horse to a halt. When he slipped down from his mount and held up his hands to help her get down as well, Inzilanî found herself at the mouth of a huge cave, with stone doors thrown wide open and waiting.
"Borongil!"
Inzilanî stared at the beautiful woman who came running from the darkness within the cavern to leap into her keeper's waiting arms. No wonder he didn't need a bed comfort slave, if that was his mate! She folded her hands and trained her eyes to the ground to give their very passionate embrace its due privacy, reminding herself harshly that she was a slave, not a nimir. She was a spoil of war, nothing more or less. It was enough that she had been fed and clothed and treated with kindness while in his keeping.
No doubt, her service would be overseen by the beautiful nimir lady from now on, who would not want her anywhere near her mate. Inzilanî understood that completely. Borongil was a kind and noble person; she was a fool for having thought that he could have cared about her when such loveliness awaited him at his home.
"Inzilanî?" Her owner's voice called to her, and she owed him her undivided attention. She took two steps toward him and then stopped the proper distance away, looking up at him for a short moment to show that she was his to command, and then looked back at her bare toes on the ground. He would make her understand what he wanted of her.
"Malheril," he said, and she looked back up briefly to see that he was indicating the lovely lady next to him. That must be her name, and it would be wise for her to remember it. Malheril, she rolled around a few times in her mind to affix it firmly to the face. Malheril would be obeyed without question or hesitation from now on.
But now, it was time to show her owner's lady the proper deference. She let her eyes meet those of the lady for just a very tiny moment, and then came to kneel in front of her with her gaze respectfully lowered. When the gesture of ownership wasn't given as it should have been, she looked up just long enough to locate the lady's hand and place it on her head, and when the correct time had passed, she put her face into the dust at the lady's feet.
The nimîr words flowed back and forth between Borongil and his lady, and Inzilanî forced herself not to listen. Even if she had understood what they were saying, it would have been disrespectful if she didn't turn her attention elsewhere. Her Umbari owner had taught her that lesson well, and she knew better than to want to repeat those beatings again. But the large hands of her keeper slipped easily under her arms, lifting her and hanging on again until she put her feet down to hold herself again. "Baw, Inzilanî," he said gently.
"Inzilanî?" The fingers that touched the bottom of her chin were even gentler than Borongil's had ever been, more than even Pharazôn's had been, and she found herself staring into eyes the color of a warm summer sky. Once more she discovered that the disdain she expected to see to be totally lacking, with shock and curiosity and shy friendliness present in its stead. Dark hair floated long over shoulders and down the lady's back. Confused, she whimpered and pulled away a little, looking to Borongil in abject apology and fear that she had offended. The lady did understand that she was a slave, didn't she?
Her keeper's hand came down gently on her shoulder, and Inzilanî froze instantly, truly frightened. What did he want? What was she supposed to do now? Had she made a mistake?
Again the nimîr words rattled in her ears, but then the lady did something that was completely outside Inzilanî's experience: she abruptly pulled her from beneath Borongil's hand and surrounded her shoulders, putting Inzilanî off-balance for a moment until she was leaning into the lady's skirts. The lady was… embracing her? What was happening? She turned and whimpered her fright to Borongil, not knowing what else to do.
Her keeper seemed to understand. He held up a finger while quickly spoken words fell from his lips that had the lady now obviously hesitating. Inzilanî turned a bit more toward him, giving him her full attention. He pointed to her, and to the lady, and then clasped his hands together twice. He tipped his head; did she understand? She gave a cautious glance up at the lady and then looked back at him in confusion even as she slowly offered up her hand. The lady's hold on her shoulders vanished, but Inzilanî's hand was immediately taken in a firm and gentle grasp.
Borongil nodded. "Na," he said, and then repeated his pointing to both her and his lady, then walked his fingers, and finally pointed into the cavern. Inzilanî followed his gesture, not exactly happy about entering into dark, unknown places. He touched her cheek to regain her attention, then pointed to himself as well as her, walked his fingers and pointed again to the cavern.
She wasn't entirely certain what he was trying to tell her, but she could only hope that it meant that he would be coming with his lady in taking her into the darkness. She nodded slowly. He held up a finger and walked back over to where another nimir had control of the grey horse to retrieve the bundles that had draped the horse's back. Tossing one over his shoulder, he put out a hand to her.
This wasn't the way a slave was to be treated, Inzilanî kept telling herself, but there was no way for her to remind either of these tall, beautiful, terrifying creatures of that. All she could do was put her hand into that of her keeper and turn her gaze to the darkness of the huge cave. Suddenly she wasn't sure which was worse: staying in the darkness, or living in the trees.
oOoOo
Inzilanî would have whimpered again, but she knew that it would do no good. Malheril was waiting, and Inzilanî knew what was wanted. Still, she had no idea why her mistress wanted her to take off her clothing; did the nimîr women do things… No. The look in her mistress' eyes showed no signs of that kind of desire.
She slowly pulled the tunic over her head, and then untied the drawstring on the trousers and stepped out of them. Malheril blinked as her eyes found the scars from the many bite marks that covered her chest, and then frowned and touched the leather bands at her wrists. Inzilanî sighed and untied them as well, then unwrapped the soft cloth that protected the sores. She bent to do the same to the leather and cloth at her ankles.
But she wasn't ready to hear Malheril gasp, or feel the very soft touch of the nimir to one of the less healed weals on her back. Inzilanî had never seen her own back, but she could imagine what it looked like. She'd seen the backs of other bed comfort slaves to the urkim. At the time, she had imagined hers was at least as bad, if not worse. After all, she'd lasted nearly two years with an uruk who often used to beat her until she was bloody and he thoroughly aroused before… She closed her eyes and swallowed hard to dismiss the memory. She was insecure enough in this very strange place, she didn't need to revisit old horrors.
That very gentle touch traced the worst of the scars - the one when the Umbari captain had nearly killed her with his sword while drunk - and then Malheril moved in front of Inzilanî and crouched to take her face between her hands.
Inzilanî frowned in worry, for the mistress' eyes were filled with tears. Why should she cry over hurts that were long healed, given to a slave as training or punishment? How could she tell this strange woman that those didn't matter anymore? Malheril spoke softly and yet vehemently, and her hands stroked back Inzilanî's hair. Whatever she was saying, the nimir woman felt it very strongly, but Inzilanî had no idea how to respond. So she stood, not quite shaking, waiting in dread for the next command.
She did stare, however, when she was led to a large vat-looking thing that was filled with steaming water, and Malheril pointed first to her, and then at the vat. Inzilanî swallowed hard. The urkim had preferred their man-flesh raw; did the nimîr cook them instead? Malheril dabbled her hand in the water, and it wasn't red or burned looking when she pulled it out. She beckoned, pointed and spoke, and somewhere in the tumble of nimîr words, Inzilanî heard, "tolo."
That word she understood.
Her new mistress wanted her in the vat.
Certain that she was going to be very sorry, Inzilanî climbed into the water and stood, looking at her mistress in frightened confusion, grateful that the water was only pleasantly warm on her skin. Then Malheril made a funny movement with her body, and then pointed at the vat; and Inzilanî stared in shock. She wanted her to sit in the water?
Then the long training kicked in. The mistress had told her to sit.
Inzilanî sat, grateful that the water was only up to her chest, her hands again folded in her lap as she awaited the next order. After a few moments, however, she released an involuntary sigh that spoke of the warmth penetrating her, easing those sores and hurts that still bothered her. Her mistress picked up a large cup and dipped it in the water, put her hand up to Inzilanî's forehead, and then dumped the warm water over her head, somehow managing to keep the water from Inzilanî's eyes.
Stunned and shocked, Inzilanî turned to glare at her, but found her frown answered with a gentle smile and hands that had a white paste spread across them that Malheril then worked into the dripping hair with firm fingers. Were the behavior not so odd, Inzilanî might have enjoyed it; the fingers worked the hair all over her head and seemed determined to keep any of the white stuff from slipping down into Inzilanî's eyes. When the cup dipped again into the warm water to rinse everything away, Inzilanî watched traces of black drip down her shoulders, imbedded in the white foam.
Oh. She still stank of uruk blood. She hadn't done a good enough job in the stream. She had offended the mistress.
She struggled to rise so she could prostrate herself at Malheril's feet in apology, but a firm hand at her shoulder held her in place in the vat, and then a finger wagged in front of her nose. Inzilanî knew that sign and stopped moving immediately. Her mistress wanted her to stay put, and she would obey.
Next, Malheril moved around the tub and to a small table where there were an assortment of small vials, chose one, and then poured some oil onto the water that, when heated, smelled of fresh flowers. Inzilanî's eyes flew open; she knew this scent! Long ago, in her village, she had collected the little purple flowers sometimes for her ammê. The sudden memory of a gentle smile and warm arms brought tears. She would never see that smile or feel the warmth of that embrace again until she had joined her ancestors.
Malheril had a soft cloth over her hand now, and wet it in the warm water and then began to wipe down those parts of Inzilanî's body that weren't below the surface of the water. It was a slow, soothing process that made Inzilanî feel very strange on the inside, so certain she was that slaves were not supposed to be treated this way! She was not a nimir child, but someone who had been won in battle and brought back to clean and do whatever else might be asked of her. Once again she found herself wondering if Borongil had informed his mate that he brought her a pet, not a slave.
It made no difference. She was beckoned out of the vat, dried with a very warm and soft cloth, made to put on strange, thin garments over which other, much finer clothing was to be worn. Her feet were pressed into thin slippers, and her hair combed out while Malheril clicked her tongue in dismay. Inzilanî couldn't tell if the mistress wished that her hair were longer or shorter; she guessed that she would discover this eventually - if she stayed that long, that was.
From the way Malheril held her hand, however, she had a feeling that her life had just taken another, very huge, turn.
Vocabulary (A) Adúnaic (S) Sindarin
ammê - (A) mother
baw - (S) no, don't
mae - (S) good, well
na - (S) yes
nimir - (A) elf
nimîr - (A) elves
Pharazôn - (A) Golden One
tolo - (S) come (imperative)
urkim - (A) orcs (nom. case)
uruk - (A) orc (obj. case)