Chapter 8: The Sea-Folk

Wait to judge them, - Folco frowned. - We are not given that, we know too little.
Then why don’t they let us know more! - Farnak suddenly cried out furiously, shaking his fists. - Why did they start deciding what we are allowed to see and what not?! Why did they close the west to us?! We, the Sea-Folk, - he waved his trembling hand at the rowers who had turned to them, - we want to sail to all four corners of the world, as long as the wind fills the sails and our hands hold the rudder! In the north, we reached the border of the eternal ice, to the blue teeth of the Giant, where the drops of water flowing from the oars turn into icicles in the air, and people fall down dead as soon as they breathe in, and where the skin turns black and peels off the hands. In the south, our “dragons” reached a place where the shore turns to the east and goes into unknowable spaces. We have been on every river in Middle-earth, both the Northern and Southern Worlds - and only the west is closed to us!

Farnak’s eyes blazed. The stunned Folco did not know what to say.

I asked you if there were people in the past who tried to cross the Sea, - the helmsman continued. - And you told me more than I have ever heard about it in my whole life, but all this only confirmed what we already know - the masters of the Undying Lands have fenced themselves off from us, continuing, however, to prescribe their laws to us! Who can deprive a man of his freedom?!

The helmsman’s voice seemed to have acquired the power of thunder, the crew stood up, Folco saw their blazing eyes, clenched fists, every word of the helmsman was met with a resounding roar.

But why did you say that the elves are being careful? - the hobbit tried to object weakly. - You don’t know why they act like that?
Why did I say it? - Farnak smiled wryly. - Because they are being careful, and we know it better than anyone! Do you know what will happen if, - he grabbed the hobbit by the shoulders and turned him to face the west, - if I turn the rudder to the starboard? We will sail for a day, a second, a third, a month, two, there will be only water around, nothing but water and sun and stars - and then time will stop, and we will see the Line.

As if a sudden gust of cold wind extinguishes a carelessly left candle - so the crew immediately fell silent and frowned, and Farnak himself, contemptuously curling his lips, lowered his head.

The Line? - Folco said in a hoarse voice. - What is it? I’ve never heard of it!
Not surprising, - Farnak threw. - Only we and those who drew it know about it. Our ships cannot go further - they are turned back… From the side it looks like… - He frowned from the effort to express in words what he had seen. - Once we saw an elven ship pass through it - it lets them through, but not us… All right! - he suddenly broke off. - Hey, you lazybones, don’t you see we’re losing the wind?! Híarrhidi! Where are you looking! - Farnak yelled, turning away from the hobbit.

The men hastily rushed to their places. After this conversation, Farnak was imbued with if not respect, then at least interest in the hobbit, and they often talked. The helmsman told a lot and willingly, as if in a hurry to share his troubles with a rare, as he himself admitted, interlocutor. He spoke of campaigns to the south and to the north. To the south - for valuable wood, golden sand and outlandish fruits, which go to the table of the Gondorian rich, to the north - for the bone of a sea beast and strong, waterproof hides, from which in Arnor they sew clothes for armored warriors. Before the listening hobbit’s mind’s eye, an endless series of unexplored countries and mysterious islands passed - some covered with eternal snow from the icy breath of the northern winds, others languishing from the heat poured on them by the sun standing exactly in the middle of the sky… And about the countless battles in which the Eldrings - as they called themselves - had to fight, Farnak spoke. About skirmishes with the gloomy, merciless tribes of the far South, where in a sea of green thickets, poisoned arrows, shot by no one knows who, silently and inexorably overtake the brave, wounds from which are fatal; how at night amazing gigantic beasts with the body of a bull and the head of a bear come to the camps, and in the morning giant spiders descend from trees as tall as a good mountain, deftly throwing their sticky web for dozens of steps; you must always be on your guard, there you can expect an attack at any moment…

Farnak spoke well, and only one thing made the hobbit inwardly cringe with unexpressed protest - when the Eldring mentioned the elves. For him, they were enemies, and he had no doubts or hesitations. They must leave, he insisted. People must choose their own paths, following only the advice of their own minds. Listening to the helmsman, Folco unexpectedly remembered the unforgettable Olmer, and suddenly an unusually clear, cold and therefore even more frightening thought flashed through his mind: what if these elf-haters conspire?

But these thoughts had to be kept to himself, and for now the hobbit took the opportunity to observe the people of the Sea-Folk. Despite the fact that the “dragon” seemed not very large, there were almost one hundred and forty rower-warriors on it: on the inner side of the board, the armament of each of them hung in strict order, ready at any second to exchange an oar for the hilt of a sword. The hobbit tried to start conversations with them, but the Eldrings were gloomy and hardly answered questions. The hobbit remembered Terwin’s coin; among the rowers there were some who looked similar to those from whose leader the hobbit had received this unusual gift; but all cautious attempts to find out anything ended in nothing. To a direct question - where they had been this spring, Farnak, with a grin, threw: where the crow had not carried the bones.

And among other stories, Farnak told the hobbit a strange legend that existed among the Sea-Folk. Allegedly, the eldest son of the last Lord of Gondor, Denethor, Boromir, who died in a skirmish with orcs at Parth Galen, left behind offspring. Boromir had a son from a simple, low-born girl, whom his father hid from the formidable Denethor, fearing his wrath. It seems that after the victory in the War of the Ring, this young man, Boromir’s son, appeared before the Great King Elessar - and for some unknown reason they had a quarrel. Denethor’s grandson left Minas Tirith - either he was exiled, or he himself did not want to live under the rule of the new King - in a word, Boromir’s son considered himself insulted and allegedly took a terrible oath to take revenge…

This story at first interested the hobbit little - what people don’t gossip about! However, he remembered it, deciding to tell it to Radagast on occasion and hear the wizard’s opinion on this matter…

And the days went by, and Folco got used to the blue expanse constantly spread around him; standing at the side and looking at the water foaming around the raised bow, he went over the events of recent months in his memory, trying to understand: what have they achieved and what, in fact, should they do next? And in general, how long will they wander? They had lost the trail of the orc “master”; they had made a mistake by leaving Moria without finding out, they should have caught a few more orcs at any cost and, with the help of the Ring, gotten the truth out of them; instead, they went down, and now Hornbori was sleeping an eternal sleep under a heavy slab in the One Hundred and Eleventh Hall, and Dori with his Ring was now probably gathering armies in the Iron Hills… The Tower of Orthanc had told them many interesting things - but what were they to do with it? They would probably get to Annúminas - and what then?

The water, eternally boiling with white foam, ran under the side, and Folco, looking at it, suddenly remembered his recent vision near the blue Flower, and it was as if he was pierced - Thorin was already old… which means they will wander for many years… so is he destined to ever return to his homeland?! Will he really have to spend his whole life in endless wanderings?! And, without delay, he asked Thorin the same question when they went down under the short forecastle to have dinner.

I know one thing - we will wander as long as necessary, - the dwarf cut him off sternly.
And how long is necessary? Where will we go after Annúminas? I wouldn’t mind visiting home, by the way… I haven’t been seen there for a long time…
It will be necessary for as long as it takes to catch this “master” and put an end to the new threat, - Thorin shrugged. - And after Annúminas, we will probably go to Angmar.

The Kid choked, Folco barely stayed on the bench. From this name, a long-forgotten cold and the horror of the revived Barrow-downs wafted over him. Looking at their amazed, bulging eyes, Thorin smirked slightly and continued:

And where else to look for those who are rocking Middle-earth? And if we see this coat of arms in Angmar - a three-pronged black crown - consider the matter almost done.
And… and then? - Folco barely managed to say.
Then there will be war, - Thorin threw harshly. - It’s time to understand what’s what, Folco. Evil, evil has once again made its nest at the foot of the Angmar Mountains! The sooner this nest is burned to the ground, the better. But what’s the point of guessing? For now, we need to get to the northern capital, our friends are waiting for us there, and a message from Dori may arrive.

Meanwhile, the ten days appointed by Farnak had passed, and exactly on the appointed date his “dragon”, helping itself with oars, moored at the mouth of the Baranduin, where there was another large anchorage of the Sea-Folk ships. Folco had no idea that his native river, so smooth and calm under the windows of his house, could spread so wide, carrying dozens of different vessels. Here, the goods brought from the south, having moved from the holds to the backs of mules, into heavy, creaking carts and long merchant caravans, set off on a short journey to the Arnorian borders. There were also many barges floating down the river, similar to the one on which the friends had sailed on the Song. Folco learned that south of the borders of his native Hobbiton, which was closed to people, at the crossing over the Brandywine, where the road that began in Delving crossed the river, there was also a large transshipment of goods; some of the merchants unloaded their goods there.

It was time to say goodbye to Farnak and his crew. Finally, Folco, Thorin, the Kid and Híarrhidi decided to go to a tavern to wet their whistles after a long journey.

They were walking along the riverbank, clad in a solid armor of countless piers, making their way through a motley crowd of Eldrings, respectfully bypassing the impressively frozen at every intersection Arnorian patrols, when their attention was drawn to an unusually long, narrow ship, rapidly approaching the shore on twelve pairs of oars. Its sharp, high-prowed nose was decorated with the image of the head of a beast unknown to the hobbit with two long fangs protruding far forward from its mouth: driven by powerful strokes of the oars, the ship was rapidly approaching. A black and red flag fluttered on the mast.

Híarrhidi whistled in amazement as soon as he saw it.

Wow! Skiludr himself, I swear by the eye of the storm! The brave one!

From the deck of the ship, ropes were already being thrown, and a little later, people began to jump from its side onto the pier one after another, without waiting for the gangplank. Several guards hurried to them; the fair-haired leader who came forward threw something short to them, and when one of the Arnorian soldiers blocked his way, he suddenly silently pointed to the river surface, along which, one after another, new “dragons”, five or six more, were approaching, mooring to the side of the first ship. The guard stepped back in confusion, and the leader calmly walked on. The rest of his men followed him. The Arnorian warriors hastily dispersed in different directions, leaving two to watch Skiludr’s ships. .

Tell me, who is he? - the hobbit asked Híarrhidi, nodding at the rapidly receding back of the fair-haired leader of the Eldrings.
Oh! Skiludr is a force! - the helmsman’s assistant said seriously and respectfully. - He is his own man and does not need laws or treaties. He has eight hundred swords! And what swords - not like the Arnorian pot-bellies. He did not accept peace with the Kingdom, but he is so strong that he cannot be taken in open battle, he cannot be caught at sea… However, I have not heard that he was particularly brutal - no, he does not even fight, but simply lives on his own, as he wants. But it happens that he takes the ships of Gondor.
How did he dare to come here?! Can’t he be captured?
Haven’t you heard how many swords he has? Try to touch him! They wouldn’t even leave ashes of the city! And the commanders of the Arnorian armored warriors know that we, the other Eldrings, those who have accepted peace, will not help Skiludr, true to our word, but we will not enter into battle on the side of Arnor, they will have to manage on their own, and they are not capable of that… Hey! What are you doing?

His last exclamation was addressed to the hobbit, who had suddenly frozen with his mouth open. The dashing warriors of Skiludr were still getting out onto the pier, and among them a familiar swarthy face suddenly flashed. Folco had not forgotten it and would not have confused it with any other - the very man who had given him Terwin’s coin!

Hearing this, Thorin immediately grabbed his axe and resolutely declared through his teeth that whether this tramp had eight hundred swords or eighty thousand, he certainly wanted to have a word with this fellow. The bewildered Híarrhidi began to warn them; the hobbit explained the matter to him in two words. The helmsman’s assistant shrugged his shoulders in surprise.

Where could they have gotten this thing, venerable Thorin? We don’t go deep into foreign lands, and it’s unlikely that your friend, as you say, could have ended up on the coast. And isn’t it possible that this coin changed many owners before it fell into the hands of the last owner?
Then I want to know from whom he received it! - Thorin said stubbornly.

Without losing sight of the seafarer the hobbit remembered, they hurried after the warriors of Skiludr, who were walking in a tight crowd. Suddenly, about two dozen of them turned into an inconspicuous beer cellar, and the friends followed them.

Downstairs it was crowded, noisy, and smoky. Suspiciously-blissful servants scurried between the huge tables, carrying trays of foaming mugs, and on the benches a boisterous sea host sang songs, played dice, quarreled, and traded. Skiludr’s men were greeted with a friendly roar - many hugged, obviously old acquaintances were meeting here. Unlike the other people, the newcomers were quieter and more dignified.

The hobbit, the dwarves, and Híarrhidi settled in a corner. The helmsman’s assistant did not stop grumbling at them and answered Folco’s question with obvious reluctance, where the man who had praised his cooking was from.

It’s even further south of our southern borders, there is such a people there, the most desperate of them often come to us…
I’m going, - Thorin lunged, but Folco stopped him.
I’d better ask him, - he laid his palm on his friend’s sleeve.

Making his way between the rows, the hobbit gently touched the man’s shoulder. The latter turned around immediately, the momentary wariness giving way to a bewildered smile. Folco bowed politely, saying that he had a few words to say to the venerable…

By the Great Water, - he interrupted him with a laugh, - isn’t this the same little fellow who treated us so well in the northern capital! What wind brought you here? Did you change your master?
That’s not so, venerable, I don’t know your name, - Folco continued politely. - But if you’ll allow me, I’d like to ask…
Where did you get this?! - Thorin, who had crept up to them unnoticed, suddenly roared over the hobbit’s ear and, of course, spoiled the whole thing. The smile disappeared, the stranger did not even glance at the dwarf’s outstretched palm with the ill-fated coin.
And who are you to give me an account? - He measured the dwarf with his gaze.
Whoever I am, - Thorin growled, shaking off the hobbit who was trying to pull him away, - but I want to know and, I swear by Durin’s beard, I will find out where you got what I myself gave to my friend at parting! And if your answer does not satisfy me, I swear, I will settle accounts with you for Terwin!

The Eldring listened to the dwarf’s impassioned speech with a smirk, smiled wryly, then slowly, quietly and distinctly threw such words in his face that Folco was stunned, and Thorin turned so purple that it was as if a fire had been lit inside him. The next moment, the dwarf’s axe hissed through the air in front of the offender’s nose. Around them, they roared, whistled and hooted.

A fine pair, by the Sea-Father!
Hey, give them room! Room!

Fans of such spectacles hastily dragged away the tables, clearing a space. No one tried to separate the disputants, not even the owner. With a last hope, Folco glanced at Híarrhidi, but he had disappeared somewhere.

The opponents were closing in. Both were without chain mail and helmets, a long straight sword gleamed dimly in the Eldring’s hands. Thorin walked forward with his axe at the ready. From somewhere in the back rows, the Kid burst out with his blades drawn, but he was immediately pounced upon, and someone very reasonably said to the Little Dwarf, who was breathless with rage:

The fight is fair and with equal weapons. Don’t you know the rules? Challenge someone yourself or you can continue the fight later, if something is wrong with your friend.
What is this? - a low and stern voice suddenly thundered from a door invisible to the hobbit. - Gront!

Pushing aside the people who were hastily making way with respectful bows, Skiludr himself was rapidly walking towards the quarreling men - in a simple leather jacket, with a long sword at his belt. Híarrhidi’s tense face could be seen over his shoulder.

Thorin’s opponent immediately lowered his blade.

What happened? - Skiludr asked abruptly, casting an icy gaze over the scene of the incident.

Gront bowed, spreading his hands guiltily.

Nothing special, my thane, - he said. -

This venerable dwarf wanted to test the strength of my sword.

Henceforth, know that the steel of the dwarves is better, - Skiludr threw coldly. - Tell me! - he ordered, turning to Thorin.

He snorted resentfully, but controlled himself and began to speak. When he finished, nothing could be read on the face of the leader of the Eldrings.

I understand you, - he said, addressing the dwarf. - But I must say at once - you are looking in the wrong place. I swear by the Eternal Sea, my men did not kill your friend: Gront received this thing for bravery, and where and from whom is another matter. We do not name to the first person we meet the names of those who do the same business with us. You will have to be satisfied with this answer or - well! - try your luck. But those sitting here know, - the Eldring waved his hand around the hall, - in his life Skiludr has not said a single false word. Not even to his enemies.

He turned and silently walked towards the doors, past the people who immediately made way for him. Gront moved to follow him, but then stopped and beckoned to the hobbit.

I am truly innocent, - he said quietly in Folco’s ear. - Your friend is too hot-headed, and it would be good to shorten him a little, but, so be it, in memory of our good meeting, tell him that this thing was given to me by one… from the East, with whom we went together… it doesn’t matter where or why. Well, are we going to fight? - he asked loudly, addressing Thorin. - I didn’t kill your friend, I swear! You can’t check me anyway, so decide - do you believe me or not.

He turned away and calmly began to talk to one of his companions. Thorin spat angrily and came closer.

But tell me at least, I beg you, - these words came to the dwarf with an effort, - from whom did you receive it? If such a thing happened to you, would you not try to avenge your friend?
I have already told your companion everything I could, - Gront answered imperturbably. - I can repeat - he is a great leader… from the East. But even that means nothing - he could have received your coin from someone else’s hands…

With these words, he turned and quickly disappeared into the crowd. Híarrhidi approached the frozen dwarf and hobbit.

Well, you’ve thought of something! - he shook his head reproachfully. - It’s a good thing the thane Skiludr himself happened to be nearby, I had to bow to him, or they would have cut you both to pieces - it’s a common thing with us.

It was time to part. The friends gathered their considerably thinned bags, loaded them onto the backs of the new ponies they had bought here and, having paid and said goodbye to Farnak, moved along the main street of the city, which gradually turned into a well-trodden road. The houses ended, but the piers still stretched along the riverbank. Fighting the current, one of the long “dragons” was moving upstream. Looking closely, the hobbit recognized Skiludr’s ship in it - only its sails were decorated with the image of a seagull, and a song was heard from the ship:

Under the evening star

In the quiet splash of the sails

We argue with a foolish fate

At distant shores!

Sailors, fighters, vagabonds,

Steel of swords, chain mail, shields,

Black and fiery banners -

At the rich shores!

Under the evening star

Along the silver path

We sail towards the battle

In the smoke of a bloody fire.

The overturned sky

Beckons with the proximity of a star,

Scattering crumbs of bread

In the depths of the gloomy water.

Under the evening star

Amidst the radiance of the waters

It teases us at night

The reflected firmament…

The road took a sharp turn to the right, bypassing the riverside hills, and the song died away.