How far artists go to make their craft unforgettable shall show this little tale.
I have seen myself numerous pieces of Anthôras' and Hâtiras' work and if I would have to determine which one would be the better, I'd have to pass.
To me did the sculptors always stand on the same level of success, even though Anthôras and Hâtiras begged to differ.
In the end, their competition took a tragic end ...
-'The Commission',
written down by Viraigon,
Dark Elvish Master of Picture and Word
North of Middle-Earth, Land of the Conclave, Summer T.A.
»Halt!«
The reproachful call lost itself in the enormous, but fastidious cleaned workshop which the sun illuminated through blue toned windows in the roof.
Cathoris startled and looked around without that he could spot someone. Somewhere between the shelves where the most various of bones were cleanly arranged or leaned aligned in rows, hid one of his best customers. The sculptor seemed to have discovered a flaw on the delivery that he had just brought him.
Cathoris had gathered the payment that had been laying on the table already and almost reached the exit when the call hit him in the back.
Sighing, the broad Dark Elf stood still. »What do you mean halt, Hâtiras?« He adjusted his leather apron that he wore over his dark-grey garments.
»It means«, it came from somewhere in the room, »that I said that I wanted to have all shinbones of giants that you could find.« A quiet clatter rung up, then the sculptor appeared behind a shelf where he had hoarded a pile of clean boiled goblin-skulls; in his right he held a thick bone that was almost as tall as himself and had the circumference of a lower arm. »It was whispered to me that you hold a second delivery from me.« The Dark Elf with the blonde hair came closer. His bright brown robe that was covered in fine, white splinters was faintly flowing with the motion.
Cathoris took the remain without showing any sign of being willing to return some of the coins. »Your source is wrong, then«, he responded friendly, because he knew the seething being of his customer. »They are no shins, they are elbow and radial bones and from trolls. Not from giants.« He smiled. »You have received what you asked for.«
Hâtiras warped his lips. »Are they for Anthôras?«
Cathoris made an excusing face. »I must not tell you. I am only the one who delivers and who travels through Middle-Earth gathering ...«
»You may hold unto any coins«, the Dark Elf fell into his word. »So?«
Cathoris remained silent for a while. »Yes. He ordered them.«
»What does he want with them?«, it came like an arrow flying from a bow.
Cathoris cleared his throat, let the coins in the small pouch ring up. Cursing did Hâtiras seek through his pockets and threw two more golden plates scornfully before his feet.
»It could be that he is planning a big statue«, the merchant revealed thoughtfully. »And it could also be that he crafts it in honor to the Conclave.«
»How far is he?«
Cathoris raised the brows, Hâtiras tossed him two more coins.
»Once I deliver the bones to him, he will likely not need more than ten moon cycles. It is supposed to be standing on the wind-plaza.«
»In the wind-...«, Hâtiras lost his words. There was his work standing, since over a year. He formed the hands to fists. »Leave his delivery to me.«
»No, I cannot do that. The order will arrive.«
»I pay you ...«
The hunter and merchant shook the golden crowned head and stood upright. »No, Hâtiras. I still possess that much honor.« He turned around and left the workshop to take a right on the street and to disappear.
»Then bring me ... the most precious bones that you have«, Hâtiras called after him. »You hear? The most precious! Of dragons! Some beast that no one has seen before!«
Cathoris returned with slow steps and remained standing at the entrance. »I guessed already that you would evolve a taste for the unique«, he said with a smile. »And as fate wills it did a highly uncommon monster cross my path not a few days ago.«
Hâtiras was instantly aflame. »Show me!« He hurried outside where the wagon of the merchant was waiting. He had to outdo Anthôras and finish a statue before his opponent did to show it to the caretaker of the plaza.
If his old statue was to be exchanged, then only against his own work.
Some time later did Cathoris arrive at Anthôras' workshop and stepped through the large, open winged gate.
This hall was the exact opposite to the one of Hâtiras: Derangement.
Different bones lay all over the place or in shambles and on the shelves, which boards threatened to surrender under the sheer weight they were burdened with. In between appeared pieces in various states of completion and sizes. The merchant wondered every time how Anthôras found anything at all.
He spotted the sculptor after a bit of searching on the scaffold of a statue that came to be a quite strange but fascinating interpretation of the five conclave members. It was at least seven steps tall and there were still many holes in it.
»I greet you«, Cathoris called up.
»And I you«, Anthôras answered without turning around. He just tightened the grasp of a silvery thread and connected the bones of an Orc with that of a Mearas. »Is it not incredible how well they fit together and form the shoulder of Nagsar?«, he called frivolous and took half a step back to see his own work. »Such I always imagined her.«
»Careful!«, Cathoris urged him and warned his customer from falling over the edge.
»O, my thanks.« With elegance he caught his balance and slid down the ladder »You are here with my delivery?«
»That I am.« Cathoris held his hand open. »And news.«
»Which would be?« The sculptor offered him a bag with coins. »O, it is about Hâtiras. Do you know what he plans?«
»Yes.« Cathoris waited until he had received another handful of golden coins. »After he had learned that you were allowed to set your work on the plaza he is downright determined to outdo you with all his will. He has already spoken to the care-taker, they say.«
»What?«, Anthôras screamed and his eyes became dark as night, as if a black thunderstorm would be roaring inside his head. »How dare he?«, he added quieter and quivering of anger. »I waited a century for my opportunity and he does not want to grant me that?« He looked at Cathoris. »What is he planning. What did he order from you?«
The merchant shrugged his shoulders, without saying a word. Only after being handed several more coins he reported of the giants' bones that he had given to Hâtiras and what he was intending to do with them.
Anthôras seethed and kicked against a pile of bones, hurled some pieces around, until his grasp found a saw and his eyes remained thoughtfully on the cutting edge. »What would you be willing to do for a good payment?«, he whispered to Cathoris.
The Dark Elf immediately grasped what he meant. »O, no. I gladly tell you of news from the other workshops, but murder?« He shook his head. »You would have to do that yourself.«
Anthôras gasped and continued to observe the blinking, sharpened metal teeth. »You are wise. Additionally would the prices for his works increase with his death.« He thought about his possibilities, laid the saw on his chin. »What about a fire? Would you able to do that?«
Cathoris put the coins away. »I do nothing, Anthôras, which lets one of you suffer. A bit espionage, but killing someone or laying a fire that could take hold of our entire settlement? Never.«
»Then I ask you for a favor that will be easy to you: Bring me on your next visit at Hâtiras' workshop his best tools that he works currently with. If I cannot stop him, I will at least slow him down so that I may finish my work before he does.«
Cathoris thought long about the offer and seemed not inclined to do it. »He would instantly suspect me«, he replied. »Hâtiras will never again buy material from me and once it is known around the city that I steal tools I can close my business.«
Anthôras gulped and looked him long in the eyes. Then a motion went through the artist and it seemed as if he had made a final decision. »Then leave it by one of his knives and his bone-cutter. I swear, your theft will not even be noticed.« He let go off Cathoris and disappeared in one of the rooms, only to return with another bag full of golden coins. »Take this. And bring me the tools as soon as possible.«
Cathoris caught the pouch and weighed it in his hand - then finally he inclined his head. »Tomorrow.«
North of Middle-Earth, Land of the Conclave, Late Summer T.A.
Cathoris rode his wagon through the streets in a good mood and led it down the road towards one of the new ambitious sculptors. He was contemplating the news that went through the town like a blazing inferno.
A few days ago, guards had found Anthôras murdered in his workshop next to his completed, wonderful statue. The one responsible had quickly been determined: In the body of the sculptor stuck both the knife and bone-cutter of his most dire rival Hâtiras.
Everyone in the land of the Conclave knew of the hostility, all had heard the threats that both had uttered; brawls had occurred more than once on the open streets or in front of a statue.
No one believed the words of innocence that came over Hâtiras' lips and so he was banished into the coldest north. All of his works had become outlawed and despite the masterly craftsmanship pronounced to be without value. The statue that he had made for the plaza was given to the flames.
Anthôras' pieces reached incredible prices however.
Cathoris whistled a quiet tune as he directed the wagon into the street where his customer was living. Anthôras had kept word: No one suspected him in the least to have any involvement in the whole scheme. Even Hâtiras had not come to the thought and had blurted out a dozen names of rivals that would draw an advantage from Anthôras' death.
Cathoris was the only one in the land who knew with high certainty what had occurred in Anthôras' workshop: To make his craft undying and to remove his greatest opponent forever, the sculptor had taken his own life and disguised his deed as murder.
But so Anthôras had reached his aim: He had given his own life for the raising of his art.
»Someone understand those artists«, he mumbled and jumped from his wagon to the ground, knocked on the door. »Delivery!«, he called brightly.
The door was torn open.
A very thin, pale Elf looked at him only shortly before his attention was caught by the objects on the wagon. His dismissive expression brightened up. »O, that is wonderful«, he whispered. He scurried outside, walked around the vehicle several times, touched the items and chose them with certain grasps of his hands.
Cathoris found the young Elf since their first meeting quite creepy. He possessed the insanity that was said to be found in the most outstanding artists of all of Middle-Earth, which did not make him appear anymore trustworthy.
But he was paying well, also for the other services.
In the beginning Cathoris has wondered why the young sculptor had paid him to spy on both Hâtiras and Anthôras. Both were supplied with the knowledge of the other.
Now Cathoris estimated that his secretive customer had intentionally sidestepped the artists and had only waited to take the sculptor-throne.
The thin Dark Elf had made his choice. »How much?«, he asked and held a small pile of bones like firewood in his arms.
»Forty«, Cathoris answered and did not dare to charge more. Not from this mad Elf.
»A good price!«, cheered the sculptor and disappeared with his tokens through the door. »You stay outside!«, he called reproachfully. »Sniff around at other people's homes!«
Cathoris rolled his eyes. As if he would enter willingly the realm of this insane artist. The merchant turned around to leave as soon as he had received his pay. »I wish you inspiration, Insalor«, he called as soon as he sat on his wagon. »The east-wind is with you!«
»Tossàlor!«, the Elf shouted angrily after him. »My name is Tossàlor! Remember it well! The land will soon know my name!«
Cathoris did not doubt it.
... his name became known, although not anymore in the Third Age.
But Anthôras and Hâtiras showed, how far our kind can go to let the art become more imperishable than its creator.
Call it insanity, call it senselessness or obsession - but that lets us differ from all other people of Middle-Earth:
We are true artists.
