Lihan Taifun
Surely by now Uzerbog would have noticed Aztryd was missing. He would be in a roaring temper to realize that she was gone. She was glad that, this time, she would be far, far away from her husband's temper. It was almost too much to imagine that, from now on, she would always be far from his tempers.
He might guess she would flee to one of the settlements to the north, looking for refuge; Nimirukhs, the Glittering Cave, perhaps, or Khazad-dûm, which was nearly habitable again. He might send to Gamilfûn, her mother's ancestral home, in the Blue Mountains. He might go there himself. He would be right in guessing that was her destination. But he would not catch her on the road, and it was very unlikely he would arrive before her. Even his right guesses would mislead him.
In order to arrive in the north as quickly as possible, she was heading south. South and west, along the ancient Human road, toward the old Human seaport at the mouth of the Great River. And once there, she would do what would never enter any Dwarf's mind, certainly not her husband's, and take passage on a ship, a Human ship, to the North. A ship that would glide swiftly and undetected up the coastline to the Grey Havens, which was an easy walk from her childhood home.
Once she was home, ahead of her pursuers, then let her husband come pounding on the gates! Let him bring all his warriors, if he wishes! Let him demand her return, and Nizl's. Let him appeal to her family for the return of her dowry. Oh yes, let Lord Ibrûn and the Council hear this case – his side of the story, and hers – and see who ends up looking like a fool! Not one copper penny would he get, nor a hair of either of their heads! Aztryd was betting her life on that.
It was a brilliant plan – audacious, and yet flawlessly simple. The only tricky parts had been getting out of Ibirgathol (for which she had the covert help of her clan-sisters), and bribing the Human post rider to let her ride with him. Even if the fool of a Human did decide to talk, news could not return to her husband in time to ruin the plan.
Clinging to the back of a Human while balancing on the back of a horse was hardly a pleasant means of transportation, but it did cover the leagues quickly. The Human stopped for short breaks every few hours, and at these times Aztryd slipped off into the scrub by the side of the road to feed and tend to Nizl. The Human asked no questions, and perhaps was himself glad to have some privacy.
He never mentioned Nizl at all. Aztryd hoped he was not aware of her. That made her life so much easier. Nizl slept most of the ride, one more lump wrapped in fur and leather, in Aztryd's pack. And yet it was for Nizl's sake she was making this desperate journey.
When it was only herself, she had never considered leaving. No Dwarf, male or female, would give another the satisfaction of knowing he had dented her, in body or spirit. Her clan-sisters would help her put salves and poultices on her cuts and bruises, and speak sympathetic words. Normally, word would filter back to the clan lord if a woman – a rare and valuable resource to the clan – was being mistreated, and the lord would call the husband to account. But in this case, since the “husband” and the “clan lord” were the same person, she had done what Dwarves have always done – endured.
Until Nizl was born. Only one thing is rarer or more valuable than a Dwarf woman: a Dwarf child. Once the women of Ibirgathol realized that all their cleverness combined would not keep little Nizl safe for long from her papa's uncontrolled rages, they cast wider for a solution. Thus the plan to send Nizl, and her mother Aztryd, to safety at Gamilfûn.
And so she rode, and clung, and watched the southlands pass by: newly-sprouted pasturelands, then plowed fields already showing a hand-height of green in this milder climate, then a few Human houses, and at last the newly-repaired stone walls of the old port city.
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He might guess she would flee to one of the settlements to the north, looking for refuge; Nimirukhs, the Glittering Cave, perhaps, or Khazad-dûm, which was nearly habitable again. He might send to Gamilfûn, her mother's ancestral home, in the Blue Mountains. He might go there himself. He would be right in guessing that was her destination. But he would not catch her on the road, and it was very unlikely he would arrive before her. Even his right guesses would mislead him.
In order to arrive in the north as quickly as possible, she was heading south. South and west, along the ancient Human road, toward the old Human seaport at the mouth of the Great River. And once there, she would do what would never enter any Dwarf's mind, certainly not her husband's, and take passage on a ship, a Human ship, to the North. A ship that would glide swiftly and undetected up the coastline to the Grey Havens, which was an easy walk from her childhood home.
Once she was home, ahead of her pursuers, then let her husband come pounding on the gates! Let him bring all his warriors, if he wishes! Let him demand her return, and Nizl's. Let him appeal to her family for the return of her dowry. Oh yes, let Lord Ibrûn and the Council hear this case – his side of the story, and hers – and see who ends up looking like a fool! Not one copper penny would he get, nor a hair of either of their heads! Aztryd was betting her life on that.
It was a brilliant plan – audacious, and yet flawlessly simple. The only tricky parts had been getting out of Ibirgathol (for which she had the covert help of her clan-sisters), and bribing the Human post rider to let her ride with him. Even if the fool of a Human did decide to talk, news could not return to her husband in time to ruin the plan.
Clinging to the back of a Human while balancing on the back of a horse was hardly a pleasant means of transportation, but it did cover the leagues quickly. The Human stopped for short breaks every few hours, and at these times Aztryd slipped off into the scrub by the side of the road to feed and tend to Nizl. The Human asked no questions, and perhaps was himself glad to have some privacy.
He never mentioned Nizl at all. Aztryd hoped he was not aware of her. That made her life so much easier. Nizl slept most of the ride, one more lump wrapped in fur and leather, in Aztryd's pack. And yet it was for Nizl's sake she was making this desperate journey.
When it was only herself, she had never considered leaving. No Dwarf, male or female, would give another the satisfaction of knowing he had dented her, in body or spirit. Her clan-sisters would help her put salves and poultices on her cuts and bruises, and speak sympathetic words. Normally, word would filter back to the clan lord if a woman – a rare and valuable resource to the clan – was being mistreated, and the lord would call the husband to account. But in this case, since the “husband” and the “clan lord” were the same person, she had done what Dwarves have always done – endured.
Until Nizl was born. Only one thing is rarer or more valuable than a Dwarf woman: a Dwarf child. Once the women of Ibirgathol realized that all their cleverness combined would not keep little Nizl safe for long from her papa's uncontrolled rages, they cast wider for a solution. Thus the plan to send Nizl, and her mother Aztryd, to safety at Gamilfûn.
And so she rode, and clung, and watched the southlands pass by: newly-sprouted pasturelands, then plowed fields already showing a hand-height of green in this milder climate, then a few Human houses, and at last the newly-repaired stone walls of the old port city.
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