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Denethor POV - 1 of 1
In which all eyes are upon Umbar.
Ithilien, 5 February, 2980 T.A.
South, a horn blew, calling for the men to regroup. Denethor raised his own horn and gave the command for the Rangers to advance. In between was the remnant of the host that had marched from the Morannon two weeks before. Shouts of "Gondor! Gondor!" echoed in the leafless woods as green and brown clad men charged the remaining Uruks. Soon, the call to advance was heard to the south as well. The slaughter was done before nightfall.
It had taken five days to destroy the Orcs that invaded Anórien. Until Marlong brought his men up at the end of the second day, there was little Denethor's band could do except run ahead of the Orc army and tell people to flee. Many farms were burned, but most of the people survived. Men who stayed to fight were told to rally at the gathering point with Marlong. There they were first heartened by how many they had to defend the land, then dismayed by the messenger's news that Ithilien was assailed. There was no way to ride to the eastern defense until the raiding band was destroyed. When that was done, the men had not a day for rest, but had to march at once to Cair Andros and passage over the river. They were in Ithilien by the first day of February.
Denethor sent Thorongil over the river at once to succor Anbar, but stayed behind himself to read messages and plan what needed to be done. Brandir and Imrahil were sent south along the river road to Osgiliath where Brandir would wait for the éored promised by Théoden. The Riders would cross the bridge and run south to guard Poros if the way was clear, else they would do battle on the roads. Imrahil was to go to Minas Tirith and tell Borondir to begin moving all available Fire casks south. They would go by barge to Pelargir, then by ship along the coast until it was stowed on each ship marked to carry it. There was no word yet on whether Umbar had sailed. All of south Gondor was on the move – soldiers and sailors to the coasts, ordinary folk to the uplands.
When he had crossed the river a few hours after Thorongil, Denethor went north with the Guardsmen and a large portion of the Anórien soldiers. They passed north of Henneth Annûn, and fell upon the rear of the Uruk army. Gildor and Dírhavel had used the Rangers wisely, but they were weary and wounded by the time Denethor arrived. The Uruks had ceased to put up much of a rear guard by then, preferring to rush south and try to secure the road against Thorongil's fresh troops, and were not prepared for the attacks Denethor led.
Denethor surveyed the carnage as he walked south to find Thorongil. They were counting on the Anórien troops being tied up by the attack over Onodló. Save that the funeral party was there when Pear Hollow had been attacked, it might still be so. Marlong would have marched halfway to Cair Andros, then would have turned back to meet the western attack. Anbar had left only a score of defenders at Cair Andros itself, taking the rest into Ithilien to try and protect the road. Even so, the attacks themselves felt incomplete. There should have been more allies, as there had been in the summer wars five years ago. You don't know what has been thrown out of Morgul, yet. Ahead, in the gloom, he saw a figure so tall it could only be Thorongil. The other saw him at the same time and waved.
Thorongil's face was filthy, the blood and dirt settled into the lines drawn by exhaustion. 'A few hundred escaped south.'
'We'll hunt them tomorrow.' The captain nodded. 'Where's Vardamir?' Thorongil motioned with his head, turning to lead the way to the surgeon. Denethor began moving among the wounded as he usually did. Thorongil followed suit. Whatever reports there were would find them here. The stars were out before the healers finished their work. A leather sack holding frigid water was all they had to wash with, but it sufficed to take the worst of the filth from their hands and faces. They filled their food pans with Ithilien stew – dried meat boiled with carrots and turnips dug up from a nearby abandoned farm, seasoned with salt and wild rosemary. A lump of hard cheese and a skin of water completed the meal. Thorongil followed Denethor to a seat near a fire.
With some food in his stomach, Denethor was able to think again. Sending so many through Rohan was a bold stroke, but also a foolish one. They had to have crossed Anduin on rafts just above the Entwash, then crept though the dried out fens at the border of Gondor and Rohan. Surely they had to know the Riders' patrols would have found them? Save the Riders didn't… The Riders were in Edoras. That was the key. Denethor tried to make his mind move more quickly.
'This shouldn't have happened.' He turned to look at the captain. The man was staring into the fire, brow furrowed. 'We should not be under attack. Not yet.'
'We've been attacked in winter before. As I said, it's too dry.'
Thorongil shook his head. 'Too dry, yes, but bad luck, as well. Thengel died at just the wrong moment. All attention was to the west right as the Enemy struck. Have you received any word about the coasts?'
'No, but there are still storms to the south,' Denethor answered. What he most wanted now was to be back in the City so he could look into the palantír and see what stirred. His stomach clenched and for a moment Denethor was afraid he was going to spew. Why did you not see this before? He carefully laid a hand on his chest, feeling for the lanyard. There were the rings, then the cord itself. No, not luck, good or bad. A palantír.
'Denethor? Are you ill?' Thorongil laid a hand on his shoulder. The nausea subsided.
'Something in the stew. It is passing,' he lied. Thorongil's gaze dropped to where Denethor's hand gripped the rings through his clothes. 'I don't think we can wait for the storm season to end before we attack,' Denethor said quickly, letting go the lanyard. 'The ships must sail even though storms threaten and we are still short of all the Fire we need.'
'Yes.' The captain smiled crookedly. 'Our surprise attack was to have triggered this, not the other way around.'
'Then we use it as the Enemy used Thengel's death – a windfall to cloak our actions.'
'We'll have to.' Thorongil sighed. 'You should go back over the river tomorrow, but you won't, will you?'
'Of course I am going. I need to know what is happening in the south and I won't learn that here.'
Thorongil's grip on his shoulder tightened. 'You are to wait for me.'
'Then you'd best not tarry in Ithilien. I will be in Pelargir in a fortnight or less. It will be decided then who leads the fleet.'
For a moment, Thorongil's grasp became stronger, to the edge of pain, and his expression was angry. 'Is there any stupid thing you will not attempt, Denethor? Is it not enough that one of us be lost?' The man dropped his hand and returned to his stew, wolfing down the last of it. Denethor finished his own supper under Thorongil's watchful eye. After a brief conference with their lieutenants, they lay down near the fire to sleep. Men who were not on guard duty also came to sleep, huddling closely to stay warm in the frigid night. As they had years ago when last they patrolled Ithilien together, Denethor and Thorongil curled up under shared blankets, the Lost covering his commander's back.
Pelennor, 7 February, 2980 T.A.
Denethor overtook the new éored sent by Théoden on the river road. They were led by Grim, son of Gram, a man slightly older than Théoden and with much experience repelling Orc raids in the Wold. Grim told Denethor of the patrols that now guarded the Undeeps and the Entwash. The Orcs had crossed Anduin a few dozen at a time on two rafts pulled by ropes on either side. They had to have carried the logs for the rafts from the Morannon. It was carefully planned and executed. Thengel has been watched. When Thengel died, they knew the borders would be unguarded as the Rohirrim went to Edoras. Denethor had calculated that the band of Orcs would have left the Morannon the same time he had left Minas Tirith and Éomund had abandoned Poros, moving northwest to skirt the Nindalf, reaching Anduin about the time of Thengel's burial.
He has to have been using the Ithil stone since he returned. Thirty years, maybe more, Sauron had been in Barad-dûr; for what part of that had he spied upon them? Denethor glanced at the Ephel Dúath, stark against the clear winter sky. I cannot see into Mordor. Is there any limit to his vision of Gondor? That was his greatest concern. What could Sauron see of their efforts? There had to be some limits, for they had been able to take him by surprise a number of times. He has not found Henneth Annûn. Yet. When he was back in the City, he would need to delve into the writings on the seeing stones once more and see what could be deduced from the records and what he knew of the Enemy's limits.
Brandir was waiting for him and Grim in the garrison courtyard and wasted no time giving his report. Halmir held the crossroads, but not securely, so the Rohirrim would have to go through soon. If some could be spared to help with the battles on the road, so much the better. The City garrison was sending new men every day to replace those who had been wounded too badly to keep fighting, but the Steward had said they could not draw from Pelargir or any of the southern garrisons.
For the week before the first assault, the fumes from Imlad Morgul had been very bad. The attack had come after sundown on the twenty-third. The foul mists had made fighting difficult, but the following night, on the twenty-fourth, a strong wind from the west had dispersed the poisoned air. Once that was gone, Halmir had managed to force the Morgul army back into the vale. Scouts saw Uruks coming along the road from the north. Denethor let them know that Thorongil was on their heels with the bulk of the north Ithilien and Anórien forces. Baragund had sent word that spies said an army from Harad was marching towards the Poros crossing, but was being slowed by torrential storms in northern Harad. It took little to decide that the bulk of the Rohirrim would go south with Brandir and Grim, leaving two dozen with Halmir.
Denethor collected battle reports for the Steward and supply lists for Borondir while Grim went to get his men ready to ride into Ithilien. Brandir waited until the Rider left, then said, 'Here is the report you care about. Finduilas and the others are safely back in the City. I got word of that yesterday.'
'She should have ridden straight home. Not gone back.' Denethor kept his eyes on his hands, willing them not to tremble while he put the messages into the pouch. Every night since he sent her off had been filled with nightmares. The bodies of women at the raided farms turned into her. An Orc scaled the tree where she was hiding. She was dragged from his grasp as they fled. At every turn, her flesh torn by fang and claw… Denethor strode out of the meeting room, message pouch over his shoulder, trying to outpace his thoughts.
Brandir embraced him while they waited for their horses to be brought to them. 'After I take the éored south, I will wait for Thorongil in Pelargir.'
'Yes. Let Imrahil know you are there. We will begin the attack of Umbar in a fortnight. I will be to Pelargir as soon as I can.'
'Why are you coming, Denethor?' Brandir's face became worried. 'Say not that you think to go to Umbar!'
'I think it, but I have not decided if I shall do it.'
'You have already ventured there. Do not tempt fate by trying a second time.'
A soldier brought Gaerhûl over. Denethor mounted and turned him towards the western gate. 'I'll see you in Pelargir, Brandir,' he said. As soon as he passed the Rohirrim milling about as they waited to ride east, Denethor gave the stallion his head. Gaerhûl settled into a swift canter, as eager to return as his master. They reached Minas Tirith after sunset. The City seemed carved from a block of ice, gleaming like snow under the starlight, lanterns and torches brighter gems set in her frozen face. Several Queen's Men and pups waited for him at the stable. Two of the youths ran towards the Great Gate when they recognized him, no doubt to warn that he had returned. The messenger pouch was dispatched with a guardsman to take to the Steward at once. While he was glad for someone to carry his packs and weapons, Denethor wondered at the number of men waiting. They stayed close to him on the walk up the mountain, looking suspiciously into shadows and alleys as though expecting Orcs to burst out of hiding. By the fifth circle, he was beginning to imagine motions in the shadows, and his nightmares caught up with him.
Beregar was in the hall of the Stewards House, ready to take his cloak. 'The Lady is in her study,' he said, 'and Hunthor is waiting for you with clean clothes at the baths. Will you need to see the Steward?'
'Probably.' Denethor took the steps two at a time. He knew he was a reeking mess, but he had to see Finduilas. She was sitting behind her desk, too thin and pale for his liking. 'Alquallë?' Her gaze touched his face briefly, then moved to his collar. Denethor touched the lanyard through the cloth. 'Yes, I wear it. I will put it away.'
'No, keep it with you.'
Something in her tone made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He walked to the desk. 'What has happened?' he asked softly.
'Much. Too much to speak of now, for the Steward waits.' Finduilas met his eyes. 'Beruthiel took advantage of our absence to come near Boromir when Aeluin took him to visit the Steward. She threatened when told to leave. In Ecthelion's presence I said that any harm she brought to any of my house would be visited upon her own person two-fold, and he declared it just. He forbade her to come near Boromir as long as he lived. The King's Men have been trying to start fights with mine.'
One mystery solved. 'I wondered why you sent such a large escort. What else?'
'After you speak to the Steward.' Finduilas wrinkled her nose. 'And most definitely after you've washed!'
Denethor bowed with a chuckle and went downstairs. Beregar provided a swift account of the trouble stirred up by the King's Men; there was little they could do save insult, and they usually found themselves being shoved about by townsmen who did not care to see the Lady's guards treated meanly. Hunthor helped scrub off the layers of dirt, sweat and blood Denethor had accumulated over the last two weeks. Though tempted by the warm tub, Denethor toweled off and began dressing so he could meet the Steward as soon as he could. Borthand appeared just as he was pulling on his boots, holding a note sealed with white wax and the Steward's stamp.
I have read the reports, and do not think there is anything that needs attention tonight. Rest, my son, and attend me at breakfast on the morrow.
Denethor read the note several times, not knowing what to make of it. He could not recall the Steward referring to him as his son in a solicitous manner in all his adult years. I shall find out in the morning what trick this masks. He sent Borthand ahead with the news. When he returned home, Denethor forgot about the Steward, Maiaberiel, and all other worries. Finduilas and Boromir waited for him in the front room. Once in Denethor's arms, Boromir refused to be put down, screaming and crying if anyone tried to take him away. This left Denethor feeling oddly pleased that his son had missed him so much, though it did make it difficult to eat supper. He slept in Finduilas' bed that night, Boromir tucked between them and Telperien purring amidst the pillows.
In the morning, there was no time to speak to Finduilas of other events. Denethor slipped out of the house so Boromir would not see him leave. The doorward took him immediately into the Steward's chambers. Ecthelion was seated before a fire, the stack of messages on a small table by his chair. Denethor bowed. 'My Lord Steward.'
'Denethor, good morning. Please bring me some tea.' Denethor did as he was bid, then fixed himself some bread and cheese from the tray of food on the sideboard. With a sigh, the Steward set down one of the messages and rubbed his eyes. 'Thorongil should have remained here, though not for the reasons we thought.'
'It is good that he went, for exactly the reasons I said,' Denethor replied. 'Théoden was reassured by the captain's presence and did not balk when we requested he send an éored at once, even though Rohan itself was under attack.' Ecthelion looked unconvinced. 'It also was good he was in Anórien to rally the villages until Marlong could bring the soldiers up.'
'True.' The Steward's voice was musing and he stared into the fire. 'You are right. He goes where he is needed.' I was there as well. The Steward motioned at the reports. 'They are clear enough. What else should I know?'
'That we are very closely watched. As we have suspected, the Enemy plans a great assault early this year. We are spied upon to see any weakness, uncover any plans of our own. The captain agrees with me that this latest round was merely trying to take advantage of Thengel's death. There will be more.'
'Mmm.' Ecthelion did not leave off his study of the flames. Denethor finished his breakfast and waited. 'Tell me, Warden, should we attack Umbar?'
'Pardon, my lord?' Denethor was confused. Does he quail at the last? Do fresh battles make him fear? 'What do you mean?'
Ecthelion turned sharply in his chair. 'I mean is there any doubt in your mind that we should do this? Any hesitation? If you know of a reason we should not do this, no matter how small, then you shall speak it now!'
'It has been my counsel since we secured the river that we needed also to secure Umbar. I have never wavered on that point.'
'Even sage advice cannot always be made so. Is it time? Can it be done?'
'It must be done now, or it cannot be done at all.'
'Can it be done without Dragon Fire?'
'Only if we have a fleet to equal the Corsairs' own, so, no.'
'Do you advise this so you may be rid of Thorongil?'
As you have tried to send me to my doom? 'If you doubt me, my Lord Steward, you need only send me with the fleet and keep Thorongil at your side. I will gladly go to Umbar.'
'I will think upon that. What needs to be done now?'
'Continue preparations for the invasion. We have only a few weeks at most before Umbar moves.'
'Do so. Have a report for me each morning of what has been done. Good day, Warden.'
Borondir was waiting for Denethor at the Stewards House. They spoke of the Fire and how much could yet be made in time to send to Pelargir. Near midday, a messenger brought letters from Imrahil. The falas was ready. As soon as word of the attacks from Mordor had reached Dol Amroth, Prince Adrahil had begun readying the ships from Cobas Haven to the Langstrand. Denethor sent a message in return warning not to move men and ships too openly because of spies.
'Friend?' Finduilas stood at his study door holding a tray of food. Denethor took it from her and set it out on his desk. Finduilas closed the door behind them. 'I did not wish to interrupt your work, but I did not wish you to miss your dinner either. You are too thin.'
'So are you.' He pulled a chair up to the desk. 'I have heard all other reports. What of yours, prince?'
'Where is the gift?'
'Here.' He tapped a desk drawer.
'Put it on. Now.' Finduilas kept her eyes on her plate while he slipped the lanyard over his head. 'Unless you are in my bed, you are to wear it.'
'Alquallë, what has happened?'
'On the road, as we came back, we were overtaken by the wizard. Mithrandir stayed with us as we traveled. He came with me when I met with the Steward – indeed, I could not be rid of him – and he spoke with me afterwards. I asked him what he intended to do with Thorongil. He would not answer.' Finduilas stopped speaking and ate her meal. Only when she was done did she continue. 'You have smoked the herbs that the wizard and Thorongil use.'
'Do they cloud your mind? Make you see things?'
'Sometimes. I think the wizard can use the smoke to his own purposes. Not Thorongil.'
'He lit the herbs as we spoke. Then, it was like a waking dream. I saw fire and smoke. In my dreams, I have seen the same. As Imrahil does. We see much the same dreams. I said that he must stop you and Thorongil from attacking Umbar. All will be lost.'
A ghostly hand rested across the back of Denethor's neck along the line of the lanyard. 'You say we should not attack?'
Finduilas shivered, hugging herself. 'I know not what I think, friend. The wizard argued with me. At last, I spoke to him and said it was not time for this. I put a name to him that I have never heard, but he knew it. Olórin. Something spoke to him, but it was not me.' The shiver became shuddering. '"But to Tuor it seemed that he listened to himself speaking, as if another spoke with his mouth."' She hid her face in her hands. 'Folly upon me for taking up the banner of Tuor.'
Denethor knelt next to Finduilas, hugging her to him. Fury claimed his heart. They touched you. They make you their servant, like an errand boy for their messages. Beneath the fury, shame grew. I cannot keep them away. He was impotent to protect her, or anyone else, from the terrible contests these creatures waged across the ages. We are puppets upon their stage.
'It was not the mariner,' Finduilas said, 'though I know not if that is any comfort.'
'How do you know?'
'A guess more than anything.' She was calmer now, her voice firm. 'You carry his favor, not Thorongil. Whomever spoke to the wizard, that one's concern will be for Thorongil, just as Mithrandir defends him. The wizard was quite clear he wished to speak to the captain, not you. This is why you must never put aside the mariner's gift. He will preserve you, if only for his own plans. You said he protected you from the other wizard. But I think the mariner wishes for Umbar.'
Denethor stood and cleared aside the dishes so he could sit on the edge of the desk. 'But we do not know. Perhaps they are in agreement, but he does not speak as plainly.'
'He does not fear Fire.'
'You and Imrahil have dreamed of this attack, and they were dire visions. Do you remember speaking to Thorongil when he healed you last?' She shook her head. 'You named him Isildur and urged him to flee. You said then it was too late.'
Finduilas scowled at this. 'I dislike being made the messenger. They should speak plainly and cease their riddles!'
'I have dreamed, too. Of Eldacar's return and the destruction of Osgiliath. Imrahil has dreamed of him as well, though he says the man wears my face. Or Thorongil's. Angelimir told me of a similar dream he had when serving Turgon. It is of a piece, but I cannot puzzle it out, save that victory may be but a harbinger of greater strife.' And I will not permit that. 'The Steward demanded of me this morning whether to go through with the attack. He asked if I had any doubt.'
'Mithrandir spent all day two days ago closeted with Ecthelion, no doubt to dissuade him.'
'Perhaps that was the wizard's concern, but it was not the Steward's. He wished to know if I was trying to be rid of Thorongil by sending him to Umbar. I said I would go in the captain's stead if the Steward wished. He does not doubt Umbar – he doubts me.' Denethor shoved his own doubts away.
'No matter what Ecthelion and Beruthiel might want, Thorongil cannot be king unless he wins a victory too great to be denied,' she answered, 'and short of defeating the Dark Tower itself, there is only one victory that will do that. Whomever returns from Umbar as victor would be called king.'
'It will be done.'
'I know.' Finduilas took his hands. 'Do not go, friend, even if the Steward commands it. This… it is not your task. It is for Thorongil to do. He does not do this to challenge you, no more than you placed your hand in mine to spite him.'
'It is not what the captain intends, but what others intend for him that makes me wary, Alquallë. Halmir agrees with me. I think it is time to talk to the wizard.'
'He left yesterday, heading south.'
Minas Tirith, 12 February, 2980 T.A.
It was time for the last war council with the Steward. Thorongil had arrived late the previous day. Denethor had summoned him to the Stewards House to hear the final account of driving the Morgul army back into the vale, but soon dismissed him to let the man rest. Every day since he himself had returned from Ithilien, Denethor had looked into the palantír, scanning Umbar and the surrounding lands closely. They were clearly preparing for an invasion. Their forges were busy, wagons brought supplies into the city, the warehouses near the harbor bulged with food, cloth, and arms, and the ships were being filled. The altar in the main square was never empty, the pyre's smoke rising even at night. He also looked at the harbors along the falas, trying to discern anything unusual, something that would attract another eye. Every port, every pier had an extra ship or two moored, but there was nothing unusual happening near the water. The garrisons were busy, but that was to be expected when there had been significant battles.
Denethor suppressed a smirk at Thorongil's surprised look when Aiavalë took a seat at the council table across from Borondir. Finduilas had told him of how she had made the Steward listen to Aiavalë and Wren and treat them with courtesy. Aiavalë had met with Denethor several times to discuss what to do about spies – how many to send and of what kind – and had insisted on being included in this meeting. It pleased him to walk into the chamber with her at his side, a scarf draped over her shoulders but her face uncovered.
When all were seated, Denethor unrolled the maps he had created from his use of the palantír. For a moment, all stared in amazement at the detail. 'Warden,' Ecthelion said slowly, 'where did you get these?'
'I made them. I have pieced together the reports of spies, observers and traders, and come up with these. Captain Thorongil's recent sojourn in particular helped me make sense of the rest of the tales.' Denethor nodded graciously to the captain, who was still staring, dumbstruck, at the maps. Denethor did not wait for questions, but spoke about the lay of the harbor, mooring of the ships, the patrols on shore and in the waves, the landward defense of the city. This was followed by estimates of their stores, calculations of their troop strength, and expectations of when they would be prepared to sail. 'We have until mid-March before they launch their own assault, perhaps less than that. We must attack before February is out. The narrowness of their harbor will be our strength. They have everything within reach on the docks, but will not be able to launch more than a few ships.'
The Steward leaned back in his chair, hands steepled before him, considering the news. 'Your counsel is far more detailed now, Warden, than it ever has been before. Captain Thorongil, does anything you have heard here change your own council about the attack?'
'No, my Lord Steward. If anything, I am heartened by this. We do not go blindly. I am in awe of the Warden's work.' Thorongil bowed his head to Denethor.
'Does it change your mind to know that Lord Mithrandir now counsels against it?' Ecthelion said.
'When did he offer such counsel?' Thorongil sharply asked.
'A week past. He came from Rohan and warned that it was not time. He said he would speak to you in Pelargir.'
The captain looked at the maps before shaking his head. 'No, my lord. In this, Mithrandir is wrong. We have waited long enough. It is time to strike a great blow. All our good fortune rides on this assault. Mayhap we shall fail, but it will not be for lack of daring.'
'I shall not gainsay you, Thorongil, but know that more than a battle may be lost if you are wrong.'
'I know. It will work.'
The Steward was satisfied with this answer. Talk turned to other preparations. Everything that Denethor had presented about Umbar, he now talked of for Gondor – stores and soldiers, defenses and debts. He emphasized that they must presume they themselves had been spied upon as closely as they had examined Umbar. Aiavalë, Borondir, Thorongil and Hallas all added to Denethor's words. Last to be discussed were Imrahil's latest messages. There were to be three captains, each commanding a portion of the clandestine fleet. Îbal would lead the ships from Dol Amroth itself and the Langstrand. They were the largest in number, but the smallest in size, and needed an experienced captain to keep them together. Imrahil would lead the vessels from Linhir and west along the coast to Dol Amroth. Thorongil was to launch from Pelargir. His portion of the fleet would take the most risky route, close to the coast, for many of the ships were not intended for more than dragging nets on a river. 'We leave here the night of the fifteenth and go to Pelargir under darkness. The next day will be a council for the captains. Îbal and Imrahil will be there and a number of their lieutenants,' Denethor said.
'And what will you do, Warden, while the attack is underway?' the Steward asked.
'I will be here. Once the attack upon Umbar is known, it is likely there will be new assaults from Mordor and I will need to attend to the eastern defense. Unless you wish this ordered differently, my Lord Steward?'
'No.' Ecthelion stood, thanked them for their counsel, and dismissed them. Borondir cornered Thorongil to discuss the last caskets of Fire, which were to travel to Pelargir with them. Denethor left with Aiavalë. His sister was lost in thought as they took the upper walk back to the house.
'Denethor, is it possible that not all the Corsair boats will be destroyed?'
'Possible? Likely, but they will be mightily reduced.'
'If they are as prepared as you say, might they still launch an attack?'
He sighed. 'I expect they will. That is why we cannot take soldiers from the south to guard Ithilien.'
'Would they attack Pelargir?'
'Yes, and Linhir.'
'I must go with you to Pelargir, then,' she said. 'I will need to bring some very rare works back from the archive there for safe keeping. And I have to bring Lark and the baby home.'
Pelargir, 16 February, 2980 T.A.
The faces around the table were grave as Îbal explained where the fleet was to gather. 'Just beyond the mouth of the firth an hour before sundown on the twenty-seventh. There will be a new moon, and a powerful spring tide. Almost too powerful; it will be greater than any seen in years. We will use it to ride in to the firth, and to be pulled out as well.'
'Won't we be seen from the headlands?' asked Minohtar. He and Angbor had come from Linhir with Imrahil. Lord Angrist remained in Linhir, though Ivriniel, Rían, and Andreth had all been sent inland to Ethring.
'It cannot be helped. We must gather where Captain Îbal says,' Thorongil said, 'but ships set out tomorrow with soldiers to land north and south of the headlands and stay hidden. When the day comes, they will attack the forts.'
'Once the forts are crippled, we will rush past them on the tide and outrun any warning,' Îbal concluded.
The plan met with nods and murmurs of approval. The garrison meeting room was filled with captains and their lieutenants. Copies of Denethor's maps covered the table, their edges already bent and smudged from being handled. Aiavalë was not the only woman in the room; the harbormaster of Pelargir, Halwen, was a woman, and there were two spies, half-breeds who would fit in well with the barmaids and fishmongers and who could eventually slip out in a trader's caravan. Most of the spies would come from Pelargir. They were of the same stock as the servant folk of Umbar and spoke proper Haradic. Denethor hoped the confusion of the attacks would allow them to pass unnoticed, else they were for the pyre.
The planning went on all day. The greatest subject of debate was the Fire. Denethor had spent the last two days figuring out the last details on how Fire could safely be handled aboard a ship. He had not liked the answers. The usual catapults on the ships would not throw the casks in the correct arcs, so new ones needed to be constructed quickly. He also was concerned that it be handled and mixed by men who understood how dangerous it was. On top of that was the limited amount they had. Some casks had fallen into the river on the trip down, and one batch of the oil mixtures had been spoiled by an idiot topping them off with whale oil. They decided that only two ships, Thorongil's and Îbal's, would carry Fire, and most would be with the captain. Belegorn, who had the only experience with it in battle, would be with Thorongil, while Îbal wished to use a man from Dol Amroth, one very skilled at handling burning things on ships.
When it came time to break for evening meal, Denethor sought out Aiavalë. He was to meet with Marach and Ragnor that night, and thought she would probably wish to go with him. He was wrong.
'I will be keeping company tonight you will not wish to share,' she briskly told him, though her cheeks were red and she would not look in his eyes.
'You're meeting Violet.'
'Yes, and I shall be late. You need not collect me. I will be with Lark.'
Denethor scowled and left the garrison as soon as it was dark. He slipped through the streets, forbidding himself to touch stone and lose his senses, and was soon tapping out the code on the door in the Merchants Quarter. Magor let him in. 'Yusil, welcome. I will get our uncles.'
'After I leave tonight, come find me,' Denethor whispered. Magor's eyes widened and he nodded, suppressing a grin. The youth led him to the small room near the front of the house. He was startled at Marach's frailty when the man came in, though Ragnor was little changed from two winters before. 'Uncles,' he said, kneeling for their blessing.
Marach kissed his cheek. 'Yusil, my heart is cheered by the sight of you. I fear it will be the last time we meet. Let us eat together a final time, nephew, and you shall tell me of your son and of the Lady.' Ragnor said nothing beyond the blessing. There was no talk of trade or war while they supped, for Marach would not hear them. Only when Magor brought them black tea did the conversation turn.
'Why are so many captains gathering here?' Ragnor asked.
'How obvious is it that we are meeting?' Denethor countered.
'Most of the city knows. Lord Amlach is complaining loudly that he is not made privy to this council.'
I should have known he would cause trouble. The meddler would have to be dealt with. 'Yes, there is reason to fear that Umbar will attack in March.' Ragnor's expression turned grim. 'But what do you know of why we meet?'
'You prepare an unpleasant welcome for the Corsairs?'
'No. I swore. The waiting is done. The pyres will be ended, and the innocent avenged.'
Marach sighed and shook his head, but Ragnor smiled. 'Truly, nephew? You go again to Umbar?'
'I do not lead this attack, though I planned it. Thorongil commands. It will be such an attack as has not happened in a thousand years, and it will be conjured out of the very foam of the Sea itself. As I promised.'
Ragnor let out a whoop and embraced Denethor. 'At last! Tell me how you shall do this.'
'Forgive me, uncle, but no more may I say. I only wished for you to know that I fulfill my oath.' Ragnor was content. He spoke eagerly of trade and of rumors heard on the caravans. It sounded as though Harad intended this to be a year of war. When the hour drew late, Denethor rose, saying he had to leave.
Marach escorted him to the door. The old man looked at Denethor sadly. 'I know what you will do, Yusil. Would that I had never sold you rock oil.' With a final embrace, Marach bade him farewell. Denethor made his way to the southern tower of the Haven Wall and waited. Magor soon appeared.
'So, what do you want?' Denethor asked him.
'To be on one of the ships. I know they go to Umbar. That's all it can be. Can you do that, Yusil?'
'Yes, but not to fight. I have something more important for you to do.'
'What, then?'
'You will be put safely ashore.'
Magor looked uncertain. 'Am I to be a spy?'
'No. Do you know of the Faithful?' Magor nodded. 'Their cipherist has died.'
For a few heartbeats, Magor stared at him, then the boy's eyes grew large. 'Me? You want me to do that?'
'That is why the Archivist taught you the very complicated cipher last summer. Only you, me and Aiavalë know it completely.'
'How long? How long will I be there?'
'Forever. And you cannot tell anyone of your family. You may never contact them. You are dead to them.'
The youth frowned, considering this. Denethor waited. Magor stood and paced about the watchtower chamber, looking out across the port. 'Yes. Yes, I'll do it. What ship do I take?'
'You will go on the ship captained by Feydín – You remember him? Good – and he will put you ashore. Then you go…' Denethor gave Magor instructions to a certain house and made him repeat it several times until he knew it by heart. 'When you get there, ask for Maaga. To her only say "Yusil sent you a goat."'
'And then?'
'If she trusts you, she will take you in. If not, you're dead.'
'How do I know she is alive?'
'She is. Feydín will collect you by the fountain. Watch for him. I will not meet or speak with you again.' Magor bowed and left. Denethor finally let go of his knife. If the boy had refused, he would have to have killed him, for now Magor knew the cipher and the location of a house of the Faithful. Denethor returned to the garrison to find a bed for the night.
The next day was like the day before; planning, thinking, working out the attack itself. Aiavalë was in the thick of things, though she had retreated behind a veil, and kept track of all the decisions. As the day before, she brusquely told Denethor he could find his own company for supper, and left to be with Lark and Violet. Denethor watched her meet Lark before the archives and stealthily followed them to a small house on a quiet lane, so perhaps she was simply being contrary when she said she was meeting Violet. He returned to the garrison in a bad mood, sat on his bed, and read over notes from the day's council.
There was a light tap at the door, and Thorongil stuck his head in. 'I have pipeweed.'
'Mithrandir brought you more?' Thorongil nodded. 'I don't have a pipe.'
'I'll share.' Smoke was soon rising. Thorongil picked up one of the maps on the desk and took a seat on the bed. 'These are amazing, Denethor. It is like a hawk drew them.'
'Do you remember the young man who took you to the uncles?'
'He will go with you to Umbar. He is to speak to no one. If you fail in all other things, you are to see him safely ashore. When you are ready to collect him, go to the fountain. He watches for you. If he fails to appear, you are to send me a message.'
'I will.'
There was no point in being coy about the wizard, not with the pouch of pipeweed on the desk. 'What did Mithrandir have to say? Why has he changed his mind?'
'I don't know. He has never liked the idea of attacking, but has been resigned that it must be done. He would not answer me or give me reasons.' Thorongil held out his hand for the pipe and puffed on it a few times. 'He knows we face a great invasion. I told him what I had seen, what you have learned. Still, he pleaded that I should not do this.'
'We cannot wait idly. What would he have us do instead?' Denethor asked, taking the pipe back.
Thorongil sighed. 'He said I should allow you to lead this. I think… he sees defeat, death, dire things, and that he would spare me.'
The touch of the lanyard made Denethor's skin tingle. 'Then I should go to Umbar, and you shall defend against Mordor.'
'No! Denethor, what are you thinking?'
'That it is unwise to disregard a wizard. That the Steward has always inclined to that plan. That I have a son, and you do not.' That the mariner will not allow me to fail, though he may allow me to perish. Denethor gave the captain the pipe so the man could think.
Thorongil took a long time to answer. 'No. There is a chance that we will lose all attacking this mûmak, but I think we shall prevail. It is time for me to be something besides a mercenary.' He gave Denethor a sideways glance. 'You should all have more faith in me.' His last words were almost too soft to hear.
'If you return victorious, you will be a man of Gondor the moment you set foot on land. You will not be permitted to refuse it.'
The captain finished the pipe, then stood, slipping the pipe into a pouch and drawing something else out. 'I have no use for this while I am gone.' In his hand was the key to the door to the Tower stairs. Denethor took it. With a nod, Thorongil walked towards the door, saying over his shoulder, 'I'll leave you the pipeweed, too. No point risking that.'
'I promise not to use it all up.'
At the door, Thorongil paused. His hand crept to his chest and he touched something beneath his shirt. Yes, leave that. You needn't say a word. You must know that I know. But the man's hand dropped and he opened the door. 'We'll have a pipe when I get back.'
'Yes, when you return.'
'Are you sure?'
Aiavalë made a sound of exasperation. 'Yes, Denethor! You have kept me busy as your scribe these last three days, and I have had no time to examine the archive.' They made their way through busy late afternoon streets, heading from the garrison to the archive. Brandir walked a pace behind them, a messenger pouch slung over his shoulder. Denethor was on his way to the messenger stable to collect a horse and begin his journey back to Minas Tirith. 'Lark has selected much, but I need to look it over.'
'You don't trust her to pick the right works?'
'More than I would trust you,' she said, throwing her brother a sharp glance over the top of her veil. She had covered her face again today, saying the port was dirty and the air bad. 'Lark is carrying another child, so should not tax herself too much.'
'Is she? How wonderful!' Brandir happily interrupted. 'When is she due?'
'Not until after loëndë. Since she can't ride that far, we'll take the same barge as the books two days from now.'
'I will be here through then,' he assured her, 'so please call on me if you need anything.'
At the door of the archive, Aiavalë gave Denethor a kiss on the cheek through her veil. 'Tell Alquallë to expect us on the twenty-third.' She turned to Brandir and gave him a kiss as well. 'Be sure we shall call on you.'
Brandir caught her hands and looked at her, a smile growing on his face. 'I am yours to command, sister!' he said and embraced her warmly. 'It makes me happy to see you like this, Aiavalë.'
'Like what?' she suspiciously replied, pulling away from him.
'Going everywhere. Bringing order to the kingdom. Not living in the dark anymore.' He laughed. 'Pay me no mind. I am a fool and easily cheered.'
Aiavalë snorted and shooed them on their way. Brandir walked with Denethor to the stable, whistling a jaunty tune. Denethor liked his brother-in-law's return to cheerfulness, though it sometimes seemed brittle. It was odd to see him without a cup of something intoxicating in his hand. In the councils and at meals, water or tea was all he would drink. He was also less foolish, making Denethor wonder how much of that had come from a simple heart and how much from a besotted head. When they were at the stable, Brandir insisted on riding a ways with Denethor.
'What did you do about Amlach, Brandir?' After some thought, Denethor had asked Brandir to control the obstreperous lord. The man treated Brandir disdainfully, but had ceased his complaints, nor had he asked to be part of the planning.
'I told him that what we did was beneath him,' Brandir said with a shrug, 'just drilling directions into the heads of stupid sailors. I said that he must be silent lest one of the other lords figure out exactly what was being planned, and successfully petition Captain Thorongil into letting him lead the Pelargir ships, and be at the captain's right hand when the victory occurred.' They rode a furlong in silence. 'Tell me, brother, for you are wiser than I. Is it worse that a woman cuckolds her husband, that a man makes a mistress of another man's wife, or that a husband allow such things without complaint?'
Denethor looked at Brandir. The man's gaze was direct, with no hint of shame or pity. 'I think the greatest fault lies with the paramour, for he has taken advantage of a rift between the husband and wife that might otherwise have been mended.'
'And of the wife?'
'A spouse should not stray. There can be division without betrayal.'
'Even if there is nothing but barrenness in fidelity?'
'And only bastardy outside of it,' Denethor countered.
'So what should the husband do?'
'He must keep his honor.'
'Honor before love?'
'What are you asking, Brandir?'
'How much you love.'
Denethor halted his horse. 'Brandir, you are the cuckold, not me, unless you know something I do not.'
'No,' Brandir answered with a shake of his head, 'there is nothing I say that you do not know of. It simply mystifies me as to why you are so eager to hand your love over to another, and so I think you intend something else.'
'It is not for me to hand Finduilas to anyone. What is this foolishness?'
'I don't mean Finduilas. I mean Gondor. You know what Ecthelion intends.'
'I can guess. If you know, then say it.'
'He will give Thorongil the crown if the man returns victorious from Umbar. You have always wished to conquer there, yet you cede your place so easily. Is it honor or love?'
Both. 'It is war.'
'What will you do when he returns?'
'That will depend on the manner of his return, won't it? This only do I pledge – I will do no harm to Gondor.'
Brandir smiled in an odd way. 'Love, then. It is more painful than you think. Well, then I shall choose honor. Amlach will come with me to Umbar. He thinks I go to observe and report back to the Steward.'
'He does not understand how quickly battles can shift.'
'No, but I do. He will not be reporting back.' Brandir nudged his horse forward so he could embrace Denethor. 'Farewell, brother. I hope I shall next see you sooner rather than later.'
'You will return.'
'Promise me one thing. If I do not…'
'Brandir, do not say that!'
'If I do not, kill her.' Brandir's eyes were cold. 'I am through with love.' He nodded to Denethor and turned his horse back towards Pelargir.
Minas Tirith, 27 February, 2980 T.A.
Denethor slipped down the hallway and paused, listening. Further along the hall, beyond the curve of the wall, there was laughter. Finduilas had brought Boromir to the Tower and he was happily being the center of attention. With a quick look around, Denethor crossed the hall to the door, slipped in the key and turned it slowly. The lock released with a soft snick and he was in. He locked the door behind him and took the stairs two at a time to the top of the Tower. He pulled the palantír from the leather sack over his shoulder and sat it in its proper place in the center of the table. He could have watched from the room in the Stewards House, but it seemed wrong to view this with the stone sitting in a battered pan in a dead woman's bedroom when he had the key to the Tower. Denethor sat against the wall and drew a small book from his breast pocket. Not Finduilas' book, but the older one, once ruined and now restored. It seemed the right thing to read this fateful day.
When it drew close to sunset, he rose and looked into the stone. In a moment, Denethor was flying south, high above the waves. When he tried to penetrate the mists of the stone, he realized that it was truly fog on the Sea. He growled in exasperation. Where are you? Around his neck, the lanyard pulled. He leaned into the direction of the invisible hand and let himself be drawn into the fog bank. For long, he saw nothing, then a sail loomed before him. Swooping down, he saw Îbal at the helm. The lanyard tugged again, guiding him to Imrahil and then a final time to Thorongil. Denethor cast his eyes back towards Umbar and the headland forts. Already they were doing battle – there would be no warning. In the firth below, the Sea was shallow. The mists rolled in, hiding the forts as flames rose from them. Denethor waited, watching the narrow passage. A ghostly ship appeared, and another, and a dozen, flotsam in the tide-spawned foam.
The moon was new, and cast little light, but the stars were thick and bright enough to let him see the faint outlines of the ships nearest the edge of the fog bank. Îbal's ship led the fleet east, keeping pace with the fog to hide their approach as long as possible. It took several hours for them to traverse the firth. Halfway there, the fog stilled and the ships emerged. Their sails caught the starlight and they were like flower petals scattered on a stream. A few broke away behind Îbal and went into the north fork of the firth where the shipyards lay. Ahead in the port, every ell of shore was wrapped in stone, the black fingers of the piers stretching out into the water as though to join hands across the narrow bay. The bare masts of the ships moored to them was a wood touched by winter, lean branches stripped of their leaves. As the Orcs had used the river willows to mask their approach, the Gondorian fleet slipped nearer, hidden by the thicket of masts.
Arrayed before the harbor square were ten great ships, the grandchildren of Alcarondas, their wood stained black by the pyre before them. Even now, flames rose. Denethor hands clenched, and he wished for a bow. This time, a shaft would go first through the heart of the lord who stood near the altar and called for the next sacrifice to be brought forth. The fire in the square dazzled the eyes of the onlookers, blinding them to the doom that lay to the west.
Fire arced through the night and struck the deck of the centermost great ship. Another missile flew through the air, the casket bursting apart and scattering its rubies across the two great ships to the south. Denethor peered closely, trying to see what the Gondorian ships were doing. At the western end of the harbor, the smallest ships were darting up to the quays, and the men leaped out. Some ran to the foot of the dock to block the docksmen from advancing, while others cast off the lines of the Corsair boats. The falas sailors rowed or towed the enemy vessels away from the docks, then poured casks of regular oil and pitch on their decks before setting them ablaze and leaping to one of their own ships. He caught a glimpse of Imrahil's silvered head as his ship was rowed swiftly to pick up sailors from a burning deck.
Deeper in the port, the Corsairs had overcome their initial shock and were calling for their soldiers and sailors to defend the fleet. Denethor found Thorongil's ship close to the square, the captain shouting out orders while Belegorn mixed caskets of Fire and loaded them one after another into his catapult. The slow river ships that followed the captain were filled with soldiers. These men took up key positions on the docks and kept the Umbar soldiers at bay.
Denethor pulled his eyes away from the main harbor and looked north to see how Îbal fared at the shipyards. It was already engulfed in Fire, for there were almost no defenders. He could see men fleeing from the conflagration as it leapt from the half-finished ship in the dry dock over a stone lane and into the warehouses and sheds ringing the yards.
Satisfied that the Dol Amroth captain would see all was destroyed in that bay, Denethor looked again to the main harbor. The western end was chaos, derelict ships drifting along, bumping into each other as they burned. Corsair sailors had reclaimed a few and were attacking Imrahil's smaller ships, but the falas men were crafty sailors in their own right and were not overcome.
To the north, the fighting on the docks themselves was fierce. The Gondorians were trying to cut ships free and send them forward towards the inferno while the Corsairs desperately tried to prevent it. On another dock further west, Denethor watched soldiers surge forward, forcing the defenders to retreat up into the narrow streets leading back into the city. Behind the attackers, a few unarmed people crept through the debris on the docks, seeking a path that did not lead to steel or flame.
More Fire flew through the sky as Thorongil bombarded the dozens of oared fighting ships tied up along the southern shore. Each throw of Fire spread tendrils of flame through the air, and they seized hold of the bare masts and open decks, the tiny embers bursting into a bonfire as it attacked the ships' timber. Once it had caught hold, it raced from vessel to vessel, sometimes leaping several feet to savage a ship that was beyond the reach of Belegorn's catapult. Denethor could see Thorongil shouting for more to be thrown.
Around the northern headland, Îbal's ships came into sight. Most of them came to the support of Imrahil's boats, cutting loose the remaining Corsair ships, dousing them with oil, and letting them drift as they burned. A few sailors began towing the boats towards the southern line of Fire-encased ships so they would burn more completely. Îbal's own ship plunged forward into the tight quarters of the main harbor.
Near the edge of the firestorm, Thorongil's ship drew up to a dock, and he led a large group of soldiers in a charge towards the shore. There waited ranks of Corsairs, curved blades red in the Fire light. Their leader was the executioner from the square, the Captain of the Havens. Denethor saw his mouth move as he called out a command and his men charged past him towards the Gondorians. Thorongil cut a swath through them, falling upon their leader with fury. The Corsairs turned to defend their captain, and a way was cleared for Magor. Denethor watched him scurry along the docks, taking advantage of the cover, and win his way into the dark lane behind the warehouses. The youth quickly lost himself in the press of people fleeing the Fire near the square, and followed the steep, winding ways to the upper city. At a green door in a plain white wall, he stopped and knocked. The door opened a sliver, he spoke to someone, and was let in.
Denethor looked for Thorongil. The man and his guards were fighting back to their boat. As he reached the ship, he yelled something to Belegorn. Another cask flew, this time into the sheds lining the harbor. Fire gnawed its way through the roof and fell upon whatever lay within. A column of flame shot up, throwing around gobbets of red the way a swing of a sword spread gore across a battlefield. Thorongil shouted, motioning for yet more Fire to be thrown past the harbor and into the city itself.
There was scarcely a Corsair ship that was not on fire in some way. The winds in the harbor were growing stronger, and some of Gondor's ships were being pulled close by it. To the far side of the harbor, a plume of Fire rose from the deck of Îbal's vessel. The catapult had not fired soon enough and the cask had exploded on board. Îbal was shouting, telling the men to wait for the smaller boats that were rowing over. They could not jump overboard, for the waters of the bay would scald them.
All light came from the east.
It was as though the sun had come to rest upon the water. At the square, all ten great ships were fully consumed. A pillar of Fire mounted up to the heavens, and the waters of the harbor boiled below it. The flames twisted and whirled about, creating a wind that whipped the maelstrom ever greater. At its height, a hundred feet above the great ships' masts, arms of flame spread out, dropping gobbets of Fire like rain across the docks and lower city, flinging liquid coals upon rooftops and into courts. The flames consumed everything. There were bodies lying in the square that had not been placed upon the altar, though they were just as burned. The altar itself was gone and the stone of the square glowed from the heat. More bodies littered the streets and docks nearby, the corpses already swelling like the Orcs who had died in Osgiliath.
The creature of Fire reached for the stars until pulled under by the last hulk of the great ships sinking to the bottom of the bay.
Across the harbor, the Gondorians were retreating, dodging between the derelict burning vessels, scooping up luckless friends from the water or catching them as they leaped to escape Fire on their own ships. The tide that had swept them in was starting its retreat, playing a game of tug-of-war with the Fire winds. Slowly, the rag-tag fleet came together and rowed away west. The last ship to leave the harbor was Thorongil's. The man braced himself on the rail, looking back at Umbar.
A deep dread came to Denethor's heart and he felt once more the eyes that had looked upon him in dire darkness as he lay in Henneth Annûn and knew himself to be dying. He tried to back away from the stone table but his legs would not obey. The stone blazed with the fires of Umbar, and in them he saw eyes and a cruel face. A demand came to his mind. Who? Who dares this? Denethor sank to his knees and in between his chest and the table, he felt a lump. In place of the king's secret, he fixed his mind upon the poem;
He chanted a song of wizardry,
Of piercing, opening, treachery,
Revealing, uncovering betraying.
Then sudden Felagund there swaying
Sang in answer a song of staying.
The cruel voice cried out in rage and pain lanced through Denethor's left arm as the Dragon Fire scar came to life. He forced himself to look away from the eyes in the stone, letting the last of the vision of Umbar dazzle his sight. Again, he fought back with the ancient words, but they turned upon him, circling him like wolves around a spent stag,
Then the gloom gathered; darkness growing
In Valinor, the red blood flowing
Beside the Sea, where Noldor slew
The Foamriders, and stealing drew
Their white ships with their white sails
From lamplit havens. The wind wails,
The wolf howls. The ravens flee.
The ice mutters in the mouths of the Sea.
The captives sad in Angband mourn.
Thunder rumbles, the fires burn —
A powerful unseen hand seized the lanyard and yanked Denethor away from the stone, flinging him down to the frigid floor. The cold as much as the impact brought him partway back to his senses, and he dragged himself around to the western side of the stone table, placing it between himself and Sauron's gaze. A voice cut through his confusion and fear. Cover the stone! Blind him! At the edge of Denethor's reach lay the leather sack. He pulled it closer and opened the neck of it as wide as he could. He gathered his strength, then lunged up and forward, yanking the sack over the palantír and drawing the lacings tight. Clutching his burning arm, Denethor sank back to the floor and swooned.
Characters introduced in this chapter, in order of appearance:
- Grim – Son of Gram, éored captain, 34 years old
- Minohtar – Captain of Linhir garrison, 42 years old
- Halwen – Harbormaster of Pelargir, 63 years old


text:
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Epos M16i loudspeaker
Last year, when Epos importer Music Hall contacted me about reviewing the then-new M16 floorstanding loudspeaker, I hesitated. I had been very impressed with the M16's little bookshelf brother, the M5 (see my review in the April 2005 Stereophile, Vol.28 No.4), which I found uncolored, detailed, and a great value. Most of all, the M5 had an incredible balance of performance. But several times in the past, having been seduced by a wonderfully balanced bookshelf speaker, I've then been disappointed by one of its costlier, floorstanding brethren. The larger speaker might share the bookshelf's overall character, have deeper bass, and play louder with less strain, but too often that magical sense of balance that I had so enjoyed in the smaller speaker would be absent.
I quickly realized the foolishness of prejudging a speaker I had yet to hear or even see, and smacked myself across the face. Besides, small-footprint floorstanders costing $1000–$2000/pair have become a popular speaker subcategory. I told Music Hall's Roy Hall to send the Epos M16s on over. He did.
Later, when I ran into Hall at the 2008 Consumer Electronics Show, he sheepishly took me aside and asked if I'd begun listening to the M16s. When I told him I had not, he admitted that the M16 no longer represented current Epos technology: Epos designer Mike Creek had recently revamped the entire M series, and added to each model name an i, for improved. "Fine," I said. "Send over the M16i."
Do the i's have it?
All four of Epos's M-series speakers have now been upgraded to "i" status, from the M5i bookshelf ($899/pair) to the flagship M22i floorstander ($2599/pair). All i-series speakers include these four improvements: 1) cabinets with more internal bracing, hand-assembled and finished with book-matched, real-wood veneers; 2) an improved version of the original M-series 1" aluminum-dome tweeter, now mounted on a cast-aluminum faceplate for better cooling; 3) crossovers that use only polypropylene capacitors in critical positions, as well as metal-oxide resistors; and 4) higher-quality, "touch-proof" binding posts with side spade-lug slots, mounted on a metal terminal panel.
The M16i is a "2½-way" speaker; ie, the bass and midrange drivers run in tandem. The 1" tweeter has a molded surround, a ferrite magnet, and ferrofluid cooling. The 5.5" midrange driver, similar to that in the M5, runs in a sealed chamber and uses a stationary phase plug on the end of its voice-coil former rather than a conventional dust cap at the center of the cone. The woofer is similar to the midrange driver—both 5.5" cones are made of injection-molded polymer—but uses a dust cap and is mounted in a separate chamber and reflex-loaded with a rear-firing port. The woofer is filtered to roll off above 100Hz; essentially, the outputs of it and the midrange overlap so that they effectively work as a single, larger drive-unit within their shared range.
The magnetically shielded M16i can be triwired, and comes fitted with sharp carpet spikes; also available are cups to protect wood floors. Epos recommends removing the cloth grilles for greater transparency, and I agree—I preferred the sound with the grilles off. The M16i is available in Light or Black Oak real-wood veneers. The Cherry finishes of my review samples were stunning, and similar only to what I'm used to seeing on much more expensive speakers.
"Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay, canta y no llores"
Canta indeed—boy, did the M16i sing. "It resolved quite a bit of detail for its price and had no colorations whatsoever" accurately describes the M16i without doing it justice. The M16i resolved extraordinary amounts of inner detail on all recordings, especially in the critical midrange and high frequencies. Moreover, the highs were extended, detailed, airy, and shimmering. The Epos revealed the magic in the best recordings, without shortchanging whatever musical values were contained by lesser recordings. High-frequency transients were incredibly fast, but never sounded etched or sharp. And the M16i's wide dynamic range was particularly intoxicating with respect to subtle, low-level dynamic cues, which gave it a sense of organic realism that made me want to listen longer and longer.
Tomiko Kohjiba's Transmigration of the Soul, from the Santa Fe Chamber Music Festival's Festival (CD, Stereophile STPH007-2), showcases a stunning upper-register passage performed by flutist Carol Wincenc. Through the M16i, her instrument was airy, metallic, and extended, with tons of detail. Moreover, every thunk, plunk, and thwack of Tyler Mack's marimba shimmered with the instrument's resonant wood, with extended air and decay but no trace of softened transients. It was also very easy to pick out cellist Peter Wyrick's emphasis on the first few notes of his accented ostinato arco passages. The dynamic range envelope was accurately graded and more lifelike than I've heard from any affordable loudspeaker.
George Crumb's Makrokosmos III is scored for two amplified pianos and two percussionists. When I listened to Gilbert Kalish's and James Freeman's performance of this work (LP, Nonesuch 71311) through the Epos, the sense of air and decay, and my being able to pick out every ppp percussive gesture, were quite remarkable. The upper partials of the shimmering bells and the delicate articulation of the piano's top register were vibrant and involving. And, for the first time, I was able to follow each piano part separately, even in the densest passages.
The Epos was also a very revealing reproducer of the human voice. In the softer passages of Timothy Seelig and the Turtle Creek Chorale's recording of John Rutter's Requiem (CD, Reference RR-57CD), as I analyzed soprano Nancy Keith's diminuendos and heard the timbre of her voice change as some of her phrases faded into nothingness, it was almost as if I could see her throat change shape. With Frank Sinatra's Only the Lonely (LP, Capitol 2 1053), the Eposes revealed every subtle phrasing and inflection of that rich, silky baritone. The M16i clearly revealed why the master was at the peak of his game in this 1958 session.

subset: commoncrawl


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Mary Esther Nelson
December 4, 1931 ~ September 9, 2012
Mary Esther Nelson passed away September 9, 2012 after a courageous battle with Alzheimers. A wonderful cook and delightful friend she will be missed.
Mary was born December 4, 1931 in Maryland to Esther and Thomas Cox.
She married Mitchell V. Asbury and had two children, Wayne and Alice. She traveled a bit and then came to make San Juan County her home. Here she met and married her true and faithful companion Clarence Jay Nelson.
She worked for over 30 years in the school lunch program, specifically the Blanding Elementary School. She will forever be known by generations as "My lunch lady".
Countless children loved seeing her as they went through the lunch line. She took her love of cooking and her creative instinct and made many beautiful wedding cakes. Hours and hours were spent creating all the flowers and decorations by hand, the old fashioned way. She loved to sew and crochet. She touched many lives and is remembered fondly.
Graveside services were held September 16, 2012 and interment in the Blanding City Cemetery.
Card of thanks
The family of Mary Nelson would like to thank the many expressions of caring and sympathy shown, especially Bishop Christensen and the 8th Ward, Danny Palmer, and the nurses and staff of San Juan Hospital and Dr. Black for their compassionate care in her last days.
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Wednesday, August 13, 2008Mikalogue: A New Business IdeaMika: Ommmm... Kit: Don't you mean 'prr', sweetie? Mika: No. Is practisin. Kit: What for, honey? Mika: Ommm - is refinin technique. Kit: You're kneading me like a nice girl, aren't you? Mika: This not kneadin. Mika is studyin shiatsu. Kit: You're massaging me? Mika: Yep. Has money-makin scheme for office cats. We is natural masseurs. All cats knead with skill. Is gap in market. We starts stable of cats to go round offices an massage all the tense execs. Can make a fortune! Kit: You think? Mika: Oh yes. We starts with high-profit City firms. Must all be tense there, havin no cats. Kit: Couldn't you stick to ones with ethical profiles? Mika: Mean less money? Kit: Yes, but better karma. That would be good for your shiatsu, I think. And ethical firms are a growth industry. Mika: If we goes with firms you wants, you gets a smaller cut. Kit: Oh, am I included in this business? Mika: Course. You does paperwork. Paper really for chewin, but Mika's accountant has all sorts of different ideas. Kit: Well, that's very nice of you to include me, sweetheart. Mika: You has always been Mika's employee. We is just diversifyin. Now shh, this massage take concentration.
And here I thought "Ommmm" meant "nom" ;-)
Just as long as she's massaging, and not chewing on your hair - it's perilous to have a cat near your shoulders ;-) Have a lovely day! :-)
I've been lobbying for years to have cats in the work place, so I salute Mika wholeheartedly. I think my worklife would improve vastly if I had a kitten at the desk.
Well, she can be a bit of a nombie ... but usually only when you tickle her tummy or try to move her from a place she's decided is hers.
I'm afraid it might be 400 years past its prime as a business idea. Massage is all well and nice, but bleeding people is no longer a billabe medical practice :)
(it's a measure of how much we love cats that we're delighted when they rake us with their god given weaponry).
Mika: Is not bleedin. Very careful with claws. You diss Mika's skills, get no massage! And not sharin fish treats with you either.
(Kit: It's true, actually, she's very polite with her weaponry...)
Delightful. Local kitteh Schnell here could open the North American branch, but there'd have to be an up front investment in chain mail gowns for her to work through.
But what would you call it? Overlord massage? Mikasage? Fish treat industries? MIPD (Massage International, Cat Division)
Just showed this blog to an american friend of mine, who then turned to me and asked, why don't you recommend she has the cat's claws removed. I told him "that's a great idea. we should do that to children when they're born and we wouldn't have to buy or make babysuits with pockets over the hands." He registered the appropriate level of shock and then spluttered that cats don't need fingernails and it wouldn't hurt them as much as it would us.
Looking back over this, it's perhaps not the nicest comment to leave. However, I think Mika ought to be informed of this before she makes plans to take her company global.
Declawing cats is incredibly cruel, much worse than removing fingernails. It's more like removing fingers. Claws are the main way that cats get a grip on things; otherwise all they'd have would be slippery little pads. And cats are active; they need a good grip.
With no claws, she couldn't climb things, which would massively restrict her ability to explore the neighbouring gardens and trap her in a very small area; couldn't keep her balance when leaping onto chairs and sofas, which is her natural way of getting around; couldn't protect herself if another cat hassled her; couldn't run along the floor without skidding; couldn't bury her excrement; couldn't scratch herself if she itched or clean her coat with full efficiency; couldn't even knead, which is one of her big pleasures in life. She'd just spend all her time falling over and off things, and then licking her bruises in frightened bewilderment. It could even endanger her life if, heaven forbid, she slipped and caught her collar on something; it's elastic, but without claws to grab it, struggling out of it would by much harder and she could end up hanging herself. Claws are the only dextrous organs a cat possesses; without them, they're completely hobbled. I can't believe it's even legal to declaw at all; it was outlawed here in the UK in 2006. Tell your friend from me that animals aren't toys you can customise at your pleasure: if you don't want a pet with claws, don't get a cat. (I'm mad at your friend, not you, of course.)
Here's an interesting set of FAQs about declawing, for anyone who wants to read up...
http://www.pawproject.com/html/faqs.asp It mentions, which I hadn't known, that there's reason to believe declawed cats also suffer chronic pain and frozen joints, as well as inability to stretch out their backs properly (they naturally use their claws as anchors for exercise.)
Declawed cats have to remain indoor cats for a lot of the reasons you list - they become defenseless against other animals, can't escape up trees, etc.
This registers less shock than it should here, because the humane society (i.e., north american RSPCA) wants ALL cats to be indoor cats, and if you get a cat from them they try to make you sign something promising not to let it outdoors. Their reasoning is that the average life expectancy of an outdoors cat is only 3 years or so, compared to 15 (something like that) for an indoor cat. They tend to get hit by cars and such. The problem is that cats are built to have a range of things to explore outside. Every indoor cat I've ever met has been some degree of psychotic. They NEED space to explore and roam. I mean, if you live downtown then perhaps the gain in life expectancy makes it worth keeping them inside, but any type of suburban or remote and they're generally fine.
Three years? Either they've averaged down because of a lot of few-week-old kittens who got killed because they were let out too young, or America's devotion to cars has led to too many roads, or else their statistics are just wrong. Certainly I've known dozens of outdoor cats who live into their teens.
You don't, among other things, have to let your cats out of the front door. Mika's only allowed out the back; she explores all the neighbours' gardens, which back on to each other, and there are no cars. If she hops over enough fences to get to a road, I'll just have to cross my fingers, but she can get a lot of exploring in without having to. I personally wouldn't own a cat if I didn't have a garden in a safe space; it wouldn't be fair on the cat. Why aren't the humane society trying to discourage people from owning cats if they live near too many roads, instead of that 'Lock Them Up' policy? Because yes, indoor cats get pretty kooky. What I'm hearing in American cat-keeping is an insane degree of sanitisation: amputate any bits that might scuff your carpet, then lock them indoors so they never have to face the risks of their natural environment. It's just not reasonable to keep an animal with that attitude; I'm really chilled by it. I keep looking at Mika and imagining some horrible vet doing awful things to her paws. My fiance wouldn't even let me describe what I'd read about declawing, the idea of it happening to Mika upset him so much. Kit: I'm feeling all protective, honey. If you wanted to ask for soemthing, it's probably a good day today. Mika: Can claw sofa? Kit: No. Mika: Ha! Let's see how much clawin can get in before you stop me. Kit: And yet, still no desire to have your little paws chopped up. (Mika runs away and hides at the very thought, and refuses to come back and be funny until I stop even mentioning it.)
Well to be entirely fair (I know, why) it's not just the "risks of the natural environment" they're worried about (rubber, while natural per se is not a naturally 30+ mph substance).
I was highly dubious about the 3 year figure too. Their page here makes the more modest claim that "on average, cats who are allowed to roam outdoors often don't live to see age five" which has enough weasel words in it that it is probably literally true. It's not unknown for them to just disappear though. But basically it's a quality of life thing. If they explained that you could make humans live to 130 by never leaving a house ever, except for brief watched breaks, I don't think there'd be many takers. Jails are jails are jails. Anyway, if you think they're over controlling of their cats, did you know they're also into small cages to keep dogs happily contained away from chewable stuff (requires training to make dog comfortable staying in it).
I've known indoor cats who were content, and indoor cats who were nuts. I've known outdoor cats in about the same ratios. If you have an apartment with high places and climby things for the cats to play on, an entirely indoor cat can live a fine life: certainly a better one than in a few weeks in a cage in the animal shelter before being euthanised. Humane societies aren't encouraging only people with lovely fenced in yards (as if cats cannot easily escape those -- cats can fit through very small holes and jump quite high) to have cats because it's better to have a somewhat restricted but long indoor life than a very restricted and short caged life.
Had a look at the Humane Society page; good grief. 'Be afraid, be very afraid!' I've got to say, American institutions do seem unusually panicky, even their charities.
And crating a dog all day? For heaven's sake. it's treating the dog like a toy you can put away when you're not using, same as declawing a cat is treating it like a toy you can customise. I know a dog all over the house isn't necessarily the solution - my in-laws used to lock their dog in the kitchen at night - but it was at least an entire room he could wander around, not a travel box. I'm sure some indoor cats are quite happy; in fact, I know some happy indoor cats of whom I've very fond. Based on my own experience, I'd say that you have to make more effort to keep an indoor cat stimulated, and also that some breeds deal better with it than others. I'd personally be warier of keeping a moggy as an indoor cat than, say, a Burmese. And undoubtedly it's better than death, if those are the only options - though from what I read on declawing, I think life indoors declawed might not be such a good alternative if the cat is is in continual pain. (And I also suspect that, in a place where declawing is legal and customary, the likelihood of a cat getting its paws hacked if it's indoors seems greater: an indoor cat will be more likely to burn off energy climbing and clawing stuff you don't want damaged, leading to more owners deciding that the best solution is the chop rather than a cat door.) I just think it's a poor universal policy.
Indoor cats do have one advantage. They dont come into my garden. I am not a fan of cats. No, that is an understatement. I *really* don't like cats. I find them creepy and nasty to be around. But a number of my neighbours are fond of them, meaning that a number of cats find their way into my garden, which really reduces my enjoyment of a summer evening and a bottle of wine!
Does anyone know of any humane ways to deter cats from my garden?
I've met a lot of declawed cats, both in homes and in shelters. You cannot tell, from the personality alone, which is which. Though I'm sure some cats are in constant pain, it's not what I'd call a common issue.
I do not recommend declawing cats -- I think it's cruel -- but the scare stories do nothing to convince people who've had declawed cats, because it's not a relevant experience. (There are cats with certain deformities of the leg that require declawing -- sometimes called twisty cats, and I'd declaw every cat in the world before I'd breed those poor cats -- but that's fairly rare when it's not being bred for.) Yes, you do need to be sure to keep an indoor cat more stimulated, but playing with a cat isn't a hardship. I tend to think that it's female cats who do better when they get to go out and male cats (at least those neutered before puberty) who don't care as much, but this is really anecdotal. In a lot of places the choice is between death and indoor life (even no-kill shelters have illnesses floating around and eventually sickening the stressed cats living there). Frankly, I'd choose an indoor life, even one with my fingertips removed, before I'd choose to die. The real solution is to have much more effective and inexpensive spay/neuter programs, and fines for unfixed pets.
Donalbain, a few possibilities.
Things you can plant: Plants with thorns, especially roses. Rue. Lavender (I'm suspicious of this suggestion, though I've heard it a fair bit). Things you can sprinkle around your plants and garden: Peppers, or pepper sprays. Citrus peel. Bitter apple spray. Things you can do: Make noise when you see the cats. Cats hate loud, sudden noises. Spray them with water. Avoid having pools of standing water for birds or fish, if this is possible. Try to water dirt enough that you don't have dry, loose dirt, which they like to roll around in.
Huh, a choice between an indoor life and death at the humane shelter? What about option c, an outdoor life? Obviously it depends on your environs, if your address is ## picadilly circus then it's not a good idea to install a catflap, but if there's grass and trees and flowers outside, you're probably good.
Oh, and declawed cats might not show pain, but cats often instinctively hide distress. Appearances may (or may not) be deceiving)
http://www.pestfree.co.uk/get-off-my-garden-crystals.htm We put these crystals in our pot plants, and Mika (who usually has a fatal attraction to them) absolutely hates them and won't go near. You'd have to use tons to stop cats from passing through, I suspect, but you could put a line of them around your seating area to create a demilitarised zone. If you really hate cats, you could gravel your garden; it won't be comfortable for them to sit on, so they won't linger. But that might be a bit drastic, one way and another, and you'll find yourself with regular weeding duties. How serious an aversion are we talking?
Frankly, I'd choose an indoor life, even one with my fingertips removed, before I'd choose to die.
So would I - though if I had to walk on sore, messed-up feet every day, like declawed cats, I might eventually think twice, especially if my ability to understand pain was as limited as a cat's. But if the States see sense and outlaw declawing, then that's not a choice anyone will have to make: it'll be indoors with your feet or outdoors with your feet, either of which are better than mutilation. Write to your Congressman!
Pretty serious. Cats and horses are my two mortal enemies. I can't stand either of them. Horses I am actually afraid of, cats just bring up an irrational, visceral hatred. I almost want to hurt cats when I see them. (Note to Mika: I dont actually hurt them. I am a nice person!)
I feel pretty much that way about dogs. I try to be brave and get on with them, but my instinctive response when I see one is, 'If it runs at me, I'll kill it. Oh no, it's running at me! Quick, hide behind my fiance! Gareth, take this bullet if you love me!' He complains that I've actually scuffed his skin grabbing him too suddenly on occasion.
Cats are creatures of impulse, so it's difficult to persuade them to refrain from anything they feel like doing; your best best is to make your garden as uncomfortable for them as possible without starting to make it uncomfortable for you - I mean, electrified metal sculptures and broken-glass paths would probably put off cats, but I don't you'd like them much either. A tactic if a cat does come into your garden and you don't want it to approach is to stare at it. Cats find stares intimidating, and generally will back down. That's also useful if you're in a cat-owner's house: it can be done discreetly enough to avoid offence, but will usually give the cat pause, unless it's exceptionally sociable. Mika sometimes upsets cat-phobes with her persistent efforts to make friends with them; if you've got a cat that keeps coming over to say hello, probably the best thing to do is let it sniff you long enough to satisfy its curiosity, greet it so it hears your voice, then don't do anything interesting. It'll usually drift off.
I didn't know that about staring at cats. Do NOT, however, stare at dogs. That's a challenge, in dog-speak, and even a dog that was originally uninterested will feel the need to respond. Not positively.
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Maybe you're 6 feet 6 inches tall or have restless leg syndrome or just want to treat yourself.
We all have different reasons for wanting to fly business class. The trick is doing it without breaking the bank.
If you've ever booked a flight, you know that flying in a premium class isn't cheap. In many cases, it's at least three times more expensive than an economy ticket. But if luxury is calling your name and you don't have the money or frequent flyer miles to spare, not all is lost. Here are a few of the best ways to score a cheap business-class seat on a flight between North America and Asia.
From the West Coast
If you live in Los Angeles, San Francisco or nearby, then consider yourself in luck. Singapore Airlines, dubbed one of the best carriers in the world, is one of the cheapest options for flying to Asia Business Class. How is one of the best airlines also one of the cheapest? Well, technically, it's not. A premium cabin on this airline usually costs an arm and a leg — unless you look out for promotions.
Recommended Fodor's Video
Singapore Airlines runs promotions for those who book flights in advance. For example, right now you can book a round-trip between Los Angeles and either Tokyo or Seoul, South Korea, for about $3,500 per ticket in business class. Is $3,500 still quite expensive? Sure. But business class flights on Singapore Airlines are usually $7,000 so you're getting a deal. If you can afford to splurge on a 13-hour flight, it's worth the experience.
INSIDER TIPAt this price, you won't be flying Singapore's famous Airbus 380. The flight is on Boeing 777-300ER, which still provides excellent service.
You'll start your flight experience by enjoying the amenities of the Star Alliance Lounge located in the Tom Bradley International Terminal at Los Angeles International Airport. Once on board, you can enjoy your lie-flat business-class seat with 55 inches of pitch, equipped with a personal in-flight entertainment system and a personal vanity mirror. You will be able to choose your meals and snacks from an extended menu and experience some of the best service in the sky.
From the Midwest
If you're a travel addict, Chicago is a fantastic city to live in or be near (within a three-hour drive). There are simply so many options when it comes to choosing an airline, including Japan Airlines.
Trust me, if you've never flown in a premium cabin before, JAL is the way to go. And it's possible to find a round-trip business-class flight to Beijing in the Sky Suite on Boeing 777 for under $2,500. Meals to-order are served in the sky along with champagne and a selection of other wine, spirits, and sake. You can also use your touchscreen to order any additional snacks after your meal as you relax in the comfy seat.
The Sky Suite cabin features staggered seats equipped with partitions, which are perfect for allowing a lot of privacy in a 49-seat cabin. All seats have direct aisle access and are convenient for traveling alone or with a companion. During your flight, you'll also be able to enjoy an amenity kit, slippers and noise canceling headphones along with in-flight entertainment on a 23-inch screen or use Wi-Fi (although you'll have to pay for it).
From the East Coast
Although not quite on the East Coast, Toronto is a nice gateway city for flights to Asia. Why? Because our neighbors in the Great White North offer affordable flights to Asia on their national carrier, Air Canada. The exchange rate for the U.S. dollar to Canadian dollar might have something to do with it.
I've been able to find sub-$3,000 business-class flights between Toronto and Tokyo with one stop. With many business-class flights going for $5,000 or more, this is not a bad deal. The first (short) leg is in domestic business class in a recliner seat with a stop in either Calgary or Vancouver. The second 11+ hour flight to Tokyo is in an international Air Canada Signature Class lie-flat sleeper pod.
Plus, when you fly business class through Toronto Pearson International Airport, you can check in through the shorter business class line and wait for your flight in the Air Canada Signature Suite in Terminal 1 for à la carte dining and free drinks at the bar.
In the air, the menu is created by David Hawksworth, an award-winning Canadian chef. And because Air Canada also serves destination-inspired dishes onboard, you can get a taste of Asia before you even get there.
From Hawaii
An honorable mention goes to Scoot, a subsidiary of Singapore Airlines. This low-cost carrier flies from Hawaii to Singapore Changi Airport for $1,800 to $2,000, which is not bad for more than 14 hours of flight time. The aircraft does make a stop in Osaka, Japan, so it's not a direct flight. But, you can take it directly to Japan for just $1,200 to $1,500 business class, depending on the season.
Scoot is a low-cost option, however, so you can't expect anything extravagant. As a ScootBiz passenger, you get access to a priority line when checking in for your flight. Scoot flies a Boeing 787-8 Dreamliner on the long-haul flight to the Aloha State. Once on board, you'll notice there are no IFE screens and the seats do not recline to 180 degrees.
However, you can enjoy extra legroom and plug in your own device into an internationally configured in-seat outlet and stream movies via the ScooTV app for free. (You do have to pay for the service when flying economy.)You'll be served a meal, which you can choose in advance based on your preference or dietary restrictions.
Bid on Upgrades to Fly Business-Class Flights
Another way to get cheap business class flights to Asia is to bid on upgrades. How?
Buy an economy ticket to your destination, then wait. In the week leading up to your flight, you'll receive an email from the airline offering to bid on an upgrade.
The offer will have a minimum bid value, which varies by airline, and you can determine whether you want to make an offer and how much. You can only make one bid, so make it count. One way to increase your chances of a bid acceptance is to bid slightly above the minimum threshold. That way you outbid the fellow flyers who bid the lowest amount in the hopes of scoring an upgrade. If the airline accepts your offer, you can make all your friends and family jealous by sharing photos of an in-flight bed, fancy meal and beverages.
INSIDER TIPHere's a little advice: don't pay more than $50 per hour of flight time. If your flight is 10 hours long, I don't recommend paying more than $500 to upgrade.
Not all airlines offer auctions for a chance to upgrade, but among those carriers that extensively cover Asia, it's possible to make a bid when flying international carriers such as Air China, Cathay Pacific, Garuda Indonesia, and Sri Lankan Airlines.
Book It
With flights ranging from 10 to 14 hours, a trip from North American to Asia is one of the longest flights you can take. Naturally, you want to be as comfortable as possible, well fed and rested when making such a long journey. Thanks to low-cost options and competition between airlines, flying in a premium cabin has never been more affordable, and you can enjoy a flat-bed and a nice meal without breaking the bank.


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- Home
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- Planning & Development
- Community Development
- Transfer of Development Rights (TDR) Program
Transfer of Development Rights (TDR) Program
Greenspace & Growth
Madison is one of less than a handful of Georgia cities to initiate a Transfer of Development Rights (TDR) Program. Unlike traditional agricultural-oriented programs, this TDR Program concentrates on the protection and connection of vital pockets of natural habitat, riparian areas, and greenspace within an existing built environment.
Pilot Program
Program participation is voluntary and based on eligibility. Property owners of designated "sending parcels" may opt to sever and sell their right to build a dwelling - a transferrable development right (TDR). Property owners or developers of designated "receiving parcels" may opt to buy TDRs to increase the number of housing units permitted on their property.
The TDR program combines strategic planning and financial incentives to accommodate growth while protecting greenspace. For more information, email Planning
Recent Success
In July 2015, the City put its ordinance to the test, with a little help from the Athens Land Trust and the Riverview Foundation (Greenspace, press release (PDF)) and cooperation from the Downtown Development Authority (Growth, press release (PDF)). Madison placed under conservation easement 25 acres, which will be open to the public for passive recreation.
Round Bowl Spring
Park & Trail
1.4 acre tract
Adjacent to the City's original water source and Downtown Madison, with trails, native plants, spring runs, and a stream
Park & Trail
2.5 acre tract
Bottomland hardwood forest containing a tributary of Horse Branch and future site of vital greenspace and recreation for an underserved neighborhood
Pritchard Farm Cemetery & Trail
19.0 acre tract
Oak-Hickory-Pine Forest and successional meadow, reserved for the City's future rural cemetery expansion
Tanyard Branch
Park & Trail
3.0 acre tract
Bottomland hardwood forest and its namesake water source
Explore TDRS
About the Program
| Program Summary (PDF)
| Administrative Procedures
| Planning Policy Basis (PDF)
| Ordinance: Code, Chapter 54
| Pilot Area Map (PDF)
| GreenPrint Reference Map (PDF)
| Zoning Reference Map (PDF)
Forms & Samples
| Sending Parcels:
| Preliminary Application
| Conservation Easement
| Certification APP
| Receiving Parcels:
| Final Application
| TDR Certificate
| Deed of Development Right
Availability of TDRs
| TDR Bank:
| To Post Your TDRs:
Conservation Properties
| Presidents Park (see left)
| Pritchard Farm (see left) | Round Bowl Spring Park (see left)
| Tanyard Branch (see left)


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I hope this comes in very soon
Please note all new ideas remain hidden from public view until reviewed by our team.
Announcement: September 2023 We are currently well underway building our next-gen user interfaces, starting with Payroll web and mobile (released), Invoices mobile (released) and soon, advanced Payroll, Reckon Mate enhancements, and Time web. Where appropriate we'll add features from the Product Ideas Portal to both old and new interfaces, or, where new is replacing old, we'll add to the new range only. Thank you for your patience - whilst we understand building new interfaces and products takes longer than adding a feature, we are certain the new designs will ultimately provide a better experience for all our customers. |


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Urban Renewal
Downtown Urban Redevelopment Area (DURA)
To address slum and blight conditions in two identified areas of disinvestment, the City of Madison has: 1) defined the boundary, 2) adopted a plan, and 3) selected an agent to facilitate change.
- The Downtown Development Authority (DDA), having worked diligently in Downtown Madison since the mid-1980s, is the designated agency to bring opportunity and renewal to downtown fringe and surrounding areas of disinvestment.
- The Downtown Urban Redevelopment Area (DURA), the first designated area for urban renewal in Madison, encompasses approximately 500 acres. DURA map (PDF)
- The Downtown Urban Redevelopment Plan (URP), the master plan for the DURA, guides property owners, decision-makers, and policy implementation to make change a reality for this area.
UNDERWAY! Congregate Stormwater Improvements
The W. Washington Street Gateway, the first focal area for urban renewal efforts, is reaching the tipping point. Acquisition is complete. Blight, nuisance, and hazardous material abatement has taken huge steps. Private owners have had the confidence to restore, rehabilitate, and construct improvements. The subarea's catalyst project - the Central of GA Depot - has had nearly $400,000 in public-private support, resulting in relocation, preservation, reconstruction, and approaching exterior restoration completion. The primary infrastructure project, designed by Georgia Civil of Madison, GA, is underway now, thanks in part to funding by GEFA, City of Madison, and United Bank.
The gateway's Congregate Stormwater Project has already made great strides in improving clean water conditions for Tanyard Branch and will soon serve one-third of Downtown Madison, where current property owners have enjoyed the luxury of not having to install or maintain stormwater facilities in years past. The new infrastructure will address current conditions and also facilitate future development opportunities in the gateway. Congregate stormwater detention can also prove an incentive to investors, as the installation and maintenance of a facility can be more cost effective when shared. Legacy Water Group of Covington, GA, was awarded the low-bid contract and anticipates completion by September 2019.