Finn returned to Rhosgobel with the others, thankful for a few days to rest. He knew the time to return home to Laketown was coming--he needed to meet with his father to discuss business, and to tell him the good news of Ceawin starting a hoped-for settlement in the East of Mirkwood. But for now his duties in the Anduin Vale were not over and so he would remain.
Finn enjoyed watching Radagast's interactions with animals and the strangeness of his ways, contrasted with the simple lives of the Woodmen. In just two or three days he was refreshed, and decided it was time to make his way back to the Easterly Inn to check in on the Brandybucks and his investment.
Tom accompanied Finn North for a short while, a journey they had now taken so many times it had become as familiar, as a comfortable glove. But for once Finn wanted to linger, feeling a strong desire to go slowly, seeing the places and peoples of the Vale that he had never been able to before. Tom was tired of living under the stars, and could only think of the soft beds of the Inn and Agatha Brandybuck's cooking, and so Finn sent him off on the direct path north.
Though he had been always used to hard work growing up in his father's lumber business, living and camping on the road had taken some time for Finn to get used to. By now he hardly thought of it, and loved watching wildlife during the day, crossing paths with strange travelers, and sleeping under the stars at night. The only thing it lacked was the fresh wind coming out over the Lake.
He soon found his path leading him more Westerly, taking him right up to the Anduin river northward. Instead of crossing paths with Woodmen, which was often and inevitable when traveling between Rhosgobel, Woodmen-town, and Woodland Hall, he passed strange folk along the river: men who rode horses but did not match the description of the Rohirrim; travelers with large wagons and even chariots like he'd seen out of the East; houseboats large and small that moved up and down the River. He had heard of these River-folk before, and though he'd had no dealings with them, he thought he understood their love and desire to live surrounded by water.
And so it was that after a few days on the road he came to a place where two such houseboats were docked on the shore, and behind them was a large island in the middle of the Anduin. The river split around the rocky outcropping, whose shores were covered by long grasses, stunted trees, and the presence of many houseboats docked as well. The boats nearest him on the land seemed quiet, the people either inside or off trading or hunting. The island, on the other hand, was a different matter - it was full of activity, a market of some kind.
His curiosity was stirred, and so he continued heading north, closer to the banks across from the island. There he found two men, sitting in small boats and chatting, River-folk who (Finn guessed) ferried people to the island who had come by land. Two copper later, Finn found himself on the island.
Merchants called to visitors, hoping to attract them to ramshackle booths and all manner of wares; one merchant and customer were vividly haggling over a small metal object, the customer's arm high in the air in frustration; dogs ran and barked while children chased them; an old lady cooked meat over an open fire, several sat nearby on small stools cups in hand, talking and drinking and eagerly awaiting the food; Men from all over Wilderland and beyond (and even a few Dwarves) mingled here, talking, trading, and eating.
For a few moments Finn was lost in the liveliness of it all, until his attention was arrested by a young woman with a stern expression on her face, wearing a leather corslet and bearing a sword in her right hand. If it had not been for the severe look in her eyes and the simpleness of her attire, Finn might have believed her to be nobility; for her beauty among the homely River-folk stood out to him as a pearl in a bucket of tar. "But a sword?" he thought. He had heard of shield-maidens out of Rohan before, but this one bore no shield, nor was she of that race, for her hair was dark brown.
She stood near a merchant wearing fine furs and a gold necklace, with a smug expression on his face. Before Finn's stare at her became embarrassing, the well-dressed merchant called out to him. "Care for a game of chance, friend? You seem a brave fellow, the stakes are high, but the rewards are higher!"
Finn shrugged; he didn't care for gambling. Growing up his father had hammered into him the value of hard work,
It's the key to success, he could still hear Winaelf say,
folk who spend their time and money gambling on a prosperous future spend the very things that could have given that future to them.
"Come now friend," continued the man, the smile on his face like a snake's jaw, "Perhaps you don't like games of dice; that's fine. I have something far better, a challenge you will not be able to resist.”
Nothing the man said about games would interest Finn; but he wanted to know who this woman was, and why she carried a sword as if she was this man's guard, and so he turned toward their table and approached as if interested.
“I am Finn, and your name?” He said, offering his hand to the lady. The woman looked at him skeptically, and raised her sword to show her hand was currently occupied. “I am Dreymis of Esgaroth” replied the merchant, taking Finn's hand in his, answering before his apparent guard could. Finn narrowed his eyes. He knew all the businessfolk of Laketown, and Dreymis was certainly not one of them. But he decided to hold his tongue and not reveal more about himself.
“So you think you are up for a challenge, lad?” said Dreymis; though grey was beginning to show on his head and in his beard, he was certainly not a man of Finn's father's age. “If you aren't going to use my name, then sir will do,” replied Finn, with a bit more sternness than he intended.
“Well then,
fine sir,” said Dreymis, the title punctuated through the man's nose, "here's the challenge: choose before you that which is worth the most. If you succeed, you keep it. If you fail, you pay for what you wrongly chose, and go home empty-handed."
Before Finn on a table were six objects:
A plain gold ring;
A a long, leaf-shaped dagger inlaid with serpents of red and gold;
A small, unset beryl, green as the waves of the Sea;
A simple sword of a quality similar to what he'd seen in the forges of Dale;
A wood carving of a horse's head, a red bead set in its eye;
Lastly, a black bag of silver.
There were so many ways the game was rigged, Finn could see, it was nearly impossible to win.
How else could a merchant wear such finery in a backwater market like this island, with dogs on the loose and half-naked children running around, unless that merchant always won? What did “worth the most” mean? And who determined the value? Was it best to pick the object that seemed the most valuable, and risk paying the cost if you were wrong? Or best to pick the thing that seemed cheapest, so that if you lost (a certain outcome), you didn't have to pay so dearly?
“You may lift the objects to examine them, but if they are damaged in any way, you will pay for them, not counting what you pay if you lose,” continued Dreymis, “And you may not look into the bag to count it. It's silver coins, so that is your only point of reference.”
The thin gold ring might have been the cheapest object, perhaps a temptation for those who wanted to get out of the game with minimal loss. Gold was valuable, but Finn could felt that it was very light and delicate; not finely crafted and certainly less than a bag of silver or a finely forged weapon. The beryl, unset as it was, could not have been worth much though he could not tell for sure. That bag of silver was probably supposed to be an aid, and could not have been the most valuable. Finn could never have bought the sword for just the silver, and he'd held its like before so could estimate its worth as somewhere in the middle. Thus the only choices left were the wood carving and the dagger. Finn picked up the latter; it reminded him of the finest blades he had ever seen, made by the Dwarves of Erebor, but it looked far, far older. The game seemed too obvious, but wasn't that was the point, to obscure the obvious? The thing of most worth could as easily be that plain beryl as this dagger, if he only knew the stories behind each.
Lastly Finn picked up the carving of the horsehead, which easily fit into his palm. The horse had a fierce expression, like the steeds of the Rohirrim, its flowing mane subtly carved to appear like flames. The bead for the eye was plain though dark, likely just glass. He turned the horsehead over, and into the back was carved a word in Sindarin:
Finn had learned to speak Sindarin, at least on some level, in his trading with the Elves of the Woodland Realm and it had improved in his time with Irime. He seemed to remember some of Sindarin letters, but as for the meaning of the word, he could not guess. He shrugged again, “I'm not an expert on jewelry, weapons and gems, so I think I shall pass on playing your game.” Then Finn looked up, into the face of the woman standing there, sword still in hand. “The most valuable thing before me are those eyes,” he said, almost without realizing it. The woman breathed in with surprise, and though her face remained stern Finn imagined he saw a little color in her cheeks. Dreymis' eyes briefly widened, but his expression quickly turned smug once again; the change had been hardly noticeable.
Finn kept speaking before the moment could become awkward. “But of course, I'm not going to play this game. Thank you Dreymis; I find myself wanting to go find something to eat. Good luck.” As he turned to go, the merchant grabbed his arm, “That will be five gold for handling my wares. I have to get them polished, you know, and if their condition isn't identical one to another, it influences the game.”
“Ha” Finn laughed. “Five gold? No, I don't think so. But here is something for wasting your time.” Finn dropped a gold coin on the table and continued to leave.
From the corner of his eye he noticed a slight nod from the merchant, and the guard quickly stepped to intercept him, the sword not exactly pointed at him, but near enough. “You will pay,” she said, “Or we will put you before the council of the éafolc. Dreymis brings the council more levies than any other merchant, and has the power to put you in chains. Do not resist.” Finn took a step back as she spoke, looking in the woman's eyes and was surprised to feel in her voice as much resignation as threat. He looked back toward Dreymis. “Fine, Dreymis. I promise to play your game before tonight, and if I lose then, I will pay.” The merchant smiled and nodded, raising his brow and releasing his guard, who stepped back behind him once again.
The rest of the afternoon Finn ate, watched the people of Trader's Isle (for that is what he had learned it was called), played with the dogs, and considered the puzzle before him. As evening began to set in, fires were kindled and folk took out instruments, beginning to play and sing. Soon there was a dance, first of kids, and then the rest joined in, stepping to a dance that was likely traditional and known by all of the éafolc. As much as Finn loved music he could not help drawing near the instrumentalists, taking out his small drum, and reinforcing the simple tune played by the others. He watched as the people danced, laughed, changed partners, mis-stepped, drank, and enjoyed the warmth of the fires that kept away the cold, which seeped up from the evening River.
On the edge of the firelight, on the other side of the fires, Finn caught a glimpse of the woman, looking through the crowds. What was she doing here, with Dreymis nowhere to be seen? He nodded to his fellow musicians, and stood, walking into the edge of the darker part of the camp, considering his next move. He realized that Dreymis had probably sent her to find him and hold him to his promise, before the fires died down for the night and he slipped away. But he realized that he wasn't going to try to escape and that he'd keep his word, even to a scoundrel. First however, he decided, he'd have a moment for fun.
Finn stepped into the light of the fires and dancers again, and began dancing his way through them slowly, toward the woman. Her sword was wisely in its sheath, for in a place with drinking and so many moving bodies, an accident would be far too easy. And so with a mix of hope and desire, spurred by seeking to distract himself from the worry he felt about that game, his dance took him into arm's reach of the woman. With a smooth motion he grabbed her hand, “Would a lady join me?”
For a moment she resisted, as if she had no desire, or was it that she didn't dare? And then she stepped forward, Finn's excitement growing. She came hesitantly, as if the steps were strange to her, like dancing was foreign.
“I can't.”
“Sure you can,” replied Finn with a smile, “The steps are quite easy. I watched and learned them myself just now.”
“No, that's not it. Well, it is, but...” She paused and turned her bare forearm up toward the firelight, showing it to Finn.
Where had he seen that tattoo before? Then she loosened her hold on his hands. The moment was over before it had begun. “Oath,” she said, and stepped back into the darkness.
Finn hid his embarrassed feeling by rejoining the dance, but within moments grew tired of it, and decided he would delay no longer. He knew she had spoken to remind him of his promise to Dreymis, and so turning into the darkness of the camp, headed back to the market. Most merchants had closed and left, but a few tents were set up with torches by the entrance, places where drink would flow late into the night. A small table was still in the market circle, lit by a single lantern. Finn could see teeth reflecting the light, and that of a gold chain, and that of a sword. The moment had come. He approached the table.
“Ah, welcome back, fine sir,” said Dreymis. “I knew you'd hold to your word. Now, take one last look here, and choose. Or if you're too much a coward, you can pay me fifty gold, and go home.”
Finn looked again at the table, examining each of the objects slowly, this time even picking up the sword; unfortunately, inspection by lantern light did not help appraisal abilities, and only the dagger seemed to be something from the Old World.
“I do not know the stories of these objects,” he said to Dreymis. “It seems one thread ties them all, though. They are all unused and unenjoyed. As if they are all bound to you, captive to this game.”
Dreymis shuffled, “Do you not know a merchant's life? They are my trade; there is no story; you are stalling.” Finn looked up, directly at Dreymis, his voice full of a confidence that came unexpectedly, a confidence that he could not explain but suddenly filled him,
“A ring that should be on the finger of a man, symbolizing the vows he made to his wife, a bag of money they had from a successful harvest, a sword that failed to protect their household, a gem she'd found on the road to the Sea, dropped by one of the Elves on the last journey West, a dagger from out of the ancient days when Men ruled the seas and mingled with Elves, and like the red and gold snakes brought both wealth and death to the Northmen.”
With each phrase, the surprise on Dreymis' face grew, shock that soon gave way to a glare, cold and dangerous. “And this,” said Finn, lifting the carved horsehead and turning it over to show the writing underneath, “This is a secret so deep you knew you could never lose.” Dreymis' hand went to his belt, his face a scowl.
Finn raised the amulet. “I choose this. An oath.”
At that moment, Dreymis' hand flew from his belt toward Finn, the blade of a knife flickering in the lantern light. Before Finn could react, another blade swung through the air in a blur, severing the hand completely, which fell on the table in a bloody mess, knife still in its grip.
A scream broke through Dreymis' mouth, who fell on the ground. “Run!” said Finn to the woman, who stared at Dreymis, momentarily stunned at what she'd done. Finn grabbed her hand and the two began to run, away from the light of the market and through the camp.
Soon the alarm was raised. Soldiers had quickly found Dreymis, and carrying torches and spears, began the pursuit. “Come,” cried Finn again, who led them toward the shore of the island, nearing a row of houseboats. Between the large boats they found skiffs tied to a hitch in the ground. They were unguarded, and it took just moments for Finn to untie one and push off into the River, paddling as quickly as he could toward the eastern shore.
It was night, and the current was strong. Clouds in the sky allowed some of the moon's light to appear, but not much. “If you can keep an eye out for hazards up river, I'd greatly appreciate it,” said Finn.
“Hah. Well, I will do what I can. But about all I can see is this boat,” her voice replied.
Finn was thankfully used to hard rowing, and taking a moment to look over his shoulder, estimated they were about halfway between the island and the shore. He could now see several torches behind the woman, pursuers who had already entered skiffs of their own, or were watching from shore. He estimated three boats had already pushed off, but they were going in different directions, not knowing exactly what direction the two had taken.
“Why did you do that? I mean . . . thank you,” said Finn.
“He would have killed you.”
“Was he that much of a scoundrel, killing those who chose correctly?”
“No, and yes.” She paused. “Before this, when someone would pick the amulet, they thought that the object itself was the most valuable. Dreymis would simply ask them what made them think it was the most valuable, and none knew; they all said it was some ancient relic, or finely carved, or some other obvious guess.”
“And did never an Elf play, who could read the writing and surmise the answer?”
“Dreymis was careful about who he invited to the game. Most of the time he simply sold the things on the table, setting out the amulet only for the game. But he still couldn't lose, as he had a backup plan.”
“To just stab the one who picked it?”
“No.” She replied. Finn thought she was going to say more, but her pause turned into a long silence, the sound of the oars in the water and Finn's breathing the only things they could hear. Two torches of their pursuers were heading further upriver, one downriver, and one in their direction. That meant trouble, for there would be at least three parties for them to avoid once reaching the eastern shore; one nearby and two whose paths they might cross once they went north.
Finn continued, “You're in his employ, and so he'd instructed you to kill anyone who said the amulet was the most valuable object. Or, to at least take it back.” He could not see her expression, but in the moonlight saw her head was turned sideways, lost in thought.
“I'm not a hired sword for Dreymis. I mean,
wasn't a hired sword. But I was ordered to get the amulet back at any cost. Some wisely returned it, others are now dead.”
“Who is this Dreymis?”
“He travels across Wilderland and beyond. He leads a band of outlaws who have taken over Trader's Isle. At one time their camp was in the Wolfswood, but now that's just their outpost. The island was the meeting place and market of the River-folk for generations, but now it belongs to Dreymis, who allows the éafolc to remain so long as they pay the tolls, send their young men to serve his bands, and look away when their young women are claimed as wives.”
“Why haven't they risen up against him?"
“They have no leader and are not a martial people. Some of them were undoubtedly glad for someone to bring power and opportunity; others have imagined that after his arrival brought so much trade, he would go on his way like everyone else. By the time he controlled the island, the éafolc were divided, dependent on his gold, and afraid.”
“You still haven't answered my question,” said Finn. “Why did you attack him? Though don't take my insistence as my not being grateful for saving my life.”
“Do you really not know that already?” she replied with surprise. “If not, then I'll you're not as smart as I believed. Maybe Béma has decided to be kind to me after these ten years.”
The quiet was suddenly broken by the loud sound of the boat sliding forcefully onto the bank. Thankfully the hull had cleared the edge, and their boat had found purchase on the shore.
“Uh. You might think I didn't grow up surrounded by water. Apprentice mistake. Well, here is land, and I'm afraid we can't rest yet.” Reaching to help the woman out of the boat, she stood, ignoring his hand, and began to jog through a small copse of trees that lined the eastern shore.
“It was the oath,” said Finn, turning and quickening his pace to catch up. “It's not just the concept of an oath that's the most valuable. It's a real oath. Like the tattoo on your forearm. You're sworn to Dreymis.”
She didn't replay, starting to turn in a southerly direction.
“Where are we going?” asked Finn.
“I don't know. But I am unfamiliar with the ways and the folk to the north of here, and know the South well.”
“But I am familiar. And I have friends in the North who can help us. Friends who can certainly handle a few soldiers.”
“You don't understand. Dreymis has a whole army of outlaws. Tonight he has sent just these few, but tomorrow will bring many, many more. He will not stop his pursuit. He has invaded the Northern Vales before.” She didn't turn from the path she'd taken, and Finn hoped he could convince her to follow him North before they got far.
Suddenly something clicked in his mind. A band of outlaws from the Wolfswood, invading the Northern Vales.
“Was it Dreymis who led the invasion, or was it actually someone else: Valter the Bloody?”
“You knew him?” She replied, an edge of shock in her voice.
“I was fighting to defend the Vales, when my friend Beorn destroyed his army and killed the man.”
“Beorn is your friend?”
“Well, maybe
friend doesn't really apply to anyone who knows Beorn. More like comrade-at-arms? Soldier? Grateful beneficiary? Either way, he will be glad to see us, and to hear about this Dreymis. After all, it sounds as if the man has rebuilt trouble from the remnant of Valter's band. Let's go north,” Finn added, indicating with his head that she should follow.
“OK. North it is.”
The pair continued a steady pace far into the night, until the moon had passed beyond the horizon and it had become too dangerous to continue in the darkness. They found a group of boulders, behind which they could rest, or clamber on for a bit of high ground if they were found. They lit no fire, and did little more than drink from Finn's canteen before lying down in the grass.
“Somehow that horsehead represents your oath. I thought it just represented oaths in general. But now I see it is a specific oath,” said Finn, speaking his thoughts aloud. “In fact, something changed when I claimed it. I didn't even know what I was speaking. The story about each of the objects and how they were tied together… I don't know where that came from.”
“Béma sent it to you; every bit was true. And yes, something did change; in that moment Dreymis was no longer my master, and I was bound to protect you. I must admit I was glad to do it, that which I've desired for ten years. Though I failed even in that for I could not believe I was finally freed of him, and I failed because Dreymis still has one hand with which to wrought evil.”
She paused, then spoke again, each word sounding clearly in the cool night air; “In that moment you became the owner of the amulet, and therefore the owner my family's oath. My oath. My life.”
Finn could hardly breath, considering the implications of what she'd said.
“But, I uh . . . I have no wish to own you, or anyone. I am no slave owner.”
She laughed, “I am no slave. My oath was freely given to serve Béma, and to whomever Béma gives my oath amulet, as a sign of whom he desires me to serve, a man or woman whom Béma himself has chosen as a servant.”
“You must obey the owner of the amulet? Wait, are you saying that Béma wants something from me? His sign in the sky is real, and perhaps the legends of him are based on truth, but what does he want from simple men? He can do what he pleases without our help.”
The lady laughed. “I am Béma's servant, and have done whatever he has asked of me through his servant, my master.”
“And Dreymis was his servant?”
“Béma is strong enough to use even evil men for his purposes. But I cannot say these ten years have not shaken my faith. And yet I cannot break my oath. Béma has no need of men; it is his pleasure to use them. You have also in your blood the faithfulness of the men of the North, the only ones who have not yet broken oath. The Men of Numenor did, and they are gone. The Eldar have, and they fade. Only we Northmen have stood against the long defeat.”
At these words Finn felt a chill up his back. They were the very thing he had written and sung about many times before. “Well, then I shall set you free. For I wish for no slave.”
“You don't get it. I am not a slave. You may give my oath amulet to another, but to set me free from my oath, only Béma can do. And for now, you are its owner, and his servant.”
It almost felt as if she was enjoying this. She was practically his slave, and yet she was telling him that in taking the amulet he had made Béma his master. He was the one who felt uncomfortable and out of control.
“OK. We will talk more on the road tomorrow. Let's sleep.”
By her lack of response, he assumed she agreed.
“By the way,” said Finn. “What's your name?”
Though it was silent, he knew she had turned toward him again.
“Hild,” she said. “And thank you.”
He wasn't sure to what she referred, but as he drifted to sleep, he remembered seeing her eyes for the first time.