Part 3

The wind was blowing hard enough to stir the topmost branches of the carantaurs by the time Legolas and Eowyn reached the clearing that served as Master Eldacar’s workshop.

The couple brought their horses to a halt, and gazed in admiration at the sight before them.

A sailing ship, more than one hundred feet long—built to the scholar’s design by shipwrights brought specially from Dol Amroth, and named The Shieldmaiden in honour of his lady patron—sat proudly upon wooden blocks, her elegant bow and sweeping sides supported by massive beams. Above her, caught in a vast net, the ‘bladder’, which Eowyn’s seamstress had helped Eldacar’s assistants construct from elven silk, rode upon the wind, straining the ropes that held it fast.

“She is beautiful,” said Legolas.

He and Eowyn dismounted and, hand-in-hand, walked across the grass to the foot of a ladder propped against the ship’s gunwale.

“I think I will stay down here, Lassui,” said Eowyn, holding back her streaming hair. “It is a little too windy for me.”

Legolas gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I shall not be long, melmenya.”

He climbed up the ladder and dropped lightly onto the ship’s deck.

...

“My Lord! Welcome! Welcome!” Master Eldacar rushed forward to greet him. “Your arrival is most opportune. We are about to perform a vital test.”

“Are you not concerned about the weather, sir?” shouted Legolas, above the noise of fluttering silk.

“Indeed; indeed—and the moment we have our results, we will extinguish the burner and stow the bladder.” He guided Legolas across the deck, to where the main mast would normally have stood. “As you can see, my Lord, we have made some further modifications—the metal sheeting protects the wood from the heat of the burner without adding too much weight...”

Crouching in a copper-lined well at the centre of the ship, young Arador, son of the Reeve of Newhome, was pouring drops of silvery fluid into a delicate funnel protruding from a tall metal cage.

“The mithril mesh of the sheathing,” explained Master Eldacar, “isolates the burner inside from the flammable materials outside—including the silk, should it ever collapse onto the deck—so there is no risk of anything coming into direct contact with the flames.”

Arador straightened up, corking the flask. “Good afternoon, my Lord,” he said, giving Legolas a brief bow of the head. “It is ready, Master.”

“Lord Legolas,” said Eldacar, “perhaps you would like to turn the tap?”

“The tap?”

“Down here, my Lord,” said Arador, showing Legolas a tube leading from the funnel into the burner cage. “Opening it will release the miruvor, and mix it with the spirits already in the tank.”

“From my calculations,” explained Eldacar, “I anticipate a thousand-fold increase in the burner’s efficiency—with just a few spoonfuls of the brandy-miruvor mixture, we will generate enough hot air to raise The Shieldmaiden off the ground.”

“Would that be wise, sir, in this wind?” Legolas looked around. The trees at the edges of the clearing were shaking their branches; the silk above him was flapping; the ropes were creaking; Arador had gathered up his cloak and was holding it close to his body.

“No, no,” said Eldacar, seemingly oblivious to the gale, “we do not propose to fly today. The Shieldmaiden is tethered to the ground; we have checked and double-checked her ropes. When we add the miruvor, the bladder will rise, but the moorings will hold the ship in place.”

“Well...” Legolas grinned. “In that case, sir, I would be honoured.”

…

The Shieldmaiden