A Ride to the Dark Side--RPG

[Airerûthiel]

Ælfritha sighed heavily as she continued to search for the pack horse's scattered wares. There seemed to be precious little good light left, and she needed as much of it as possible to collect the goods as they lay divided. 'Every little strange misfortune that befalls us on this journey puts another distance between the thieves and ourselves,' she thought to herself as she collected a parcel of medicinal herbs and placed them with the motley arrangement of other fallen items.

Suddenly, the noise of one in slumber was brought to her ears from behind a nearby rock. She walked slowly and carefully towards the stone, not knowing if what lurked behind it was friend or foe. Her breathing seemed to grow louder to her own ears with every step she took, and her heartbeat doubled its pace every time, sending a dizzy sensation to her mind as she tried to consistently exercise control over her ever-greatening trepidation.

The figure that lay behind the stone, wrapped in a blanket and a ragged travelling cloak, was male and at the irresponsible point in his young life that falls between childhood and the coming of age. He looked strangely ethereal, and yet almost too human for his own good. "The child of two races," whispered Ælfritha as her eyes perused the appearance of the young figure. He had hair of a colour rarely seen in Middle-earth, a sort of golden-red, as a flame might look in the first ray of dawn's light, and a face that seemed as though he carried cares of one years older than he.

Reaching carefully out to see whether the perfectly still figure had not chosen to cross into the Undying Lands at this time, Ælfritha gently laid her fingers upon the hem of the half-Elf's cloak. Without warning, he leapt up and partially drew his sword. "What business do you have in the Riddermark?" asked Ælfritha as she staggered backwards slightly, unnerved at the young one's boldness.

"My business is my own, and yet you and your party share it," he replied, his eyes staring icily out at the horse-seller. When he next spoke, his voice was humbler, meeker, as a child who knows he has done wrong. "I seek the ones who took the horses from the stable at the White Horse. 'Tis twice the blow for me, for not only does it greviously wound the otherwise excellent reputation of Bethberry, the innkeeper whom I worked for there, but one of the horses they chose to take belonged to my mother, and me in my turn."

"What is your name, child?" asked Ælfritha, feeling a strange sympathy towards this stranger, who although fierce in words became more servile in actions. "And what of your mother, and your history? Why do you ride upon the back of her horse?"

"I am Maikadurion of Ithilien, son to Orowethwen of Mirkwood and Théomer son of the lands of Men," he replied, "and I ride upon my mother's horse for he is all I have to prevent her image from passing into the world of shadow, there to be forever forgotten. Until the name of my father and my house is restored to its former glory, I will not rest to hold my family's legacy together, and I fear neither pain nor death."

"Greetings, Maikadurion. I am Ælfritha, and my business with this party is simple - four of the horses those thieves took from the stable of she who you served under were mine, some of the finest in all Rohan, and on their way to be sold to another. But for the moment I am a little preoccupied with collecting the wares of a pack horse of this party, which we lost not long ago. Would you be so kind as to help me collect them?"

"It would be a great honour," replied the half-Elf, bowing low as he rose from his position. "I believe that this may well belong to you anyway." He offered out the blanket he had spent the previous night earning some rest in after his collapse earlier that day, due to his virtual non-stop running to catch up to the party.

[ January 08, 2003: Message edited by: Airerûthiel ]

[Bêthberry]

Ælfritha was thankful for the young elf's presence, for his youthful enthusiasm kept her mind from dwelling too heavily on the yet further losses they had suffered. Then she came upon the torn leather bindings of the saddle bags which Doric had carried and she shook with grief and rage and frustration, mingled.

Doric had not been her horse, but Eomund's, and now she had failed him in protecting his gift. Slowly she dismounted from Nithal, who was still skittish from the attack and who sensed the presence of horse blood. She spoke calming words into his left ear as she held tightly to his reigns and stroked his neck. She remained thankful that her whip had kept the whargs from hurting him; she hope that her one lunge with her spurs had raked one wharg's eye and nose deeply, so that he would never forget the cost of his victory over Doric. She should not have left the ponied tether strap so long; he might still be alive had she been more forethoughtful. She would not again so soon underestimate the presence of danger nor give harm such an easy victory.

Maikadurion's voice called her back to their task. She picked up the bloodied leather straps and followed the drag marks on the frozen ground; soon she came upon two of the saddle bags--the two which held food provisions for man and beast. Lost it appeared were the extra blankets.

"Let us be thankful for what we have," she murmured. Then, to Maikadurion, she called, "Come, we have found most of what we will need; let us return before we have lost any more time and see that the Rider is returned to his rest in full homours."

Climbing back atop Nithal, she led the way back to the glade, where she would introduce Maikadurion to the others.

[ February 05, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[*Varda*]

They had stood by the grave of Hading, silently mourning, until Izrenna had called out about Deorlin’s disappearance. The group had been taken with panic, as they looked around and ahead for Deorlin. There appeared to be no sign of the man, but Malienna distinctly remembered him riding far ahead. Was there a chance he had avoided the attack altogether? Or had…had they got him first?

Not knowing what the company would choose to do, to follow Deorlin and help him, or to remain and hope, Malienna busied herself with other tasks. She gently tended to Naroch’s scratches, cleaning them with some ointment she had found in the bottom of her pack. She had some pain in her arm, from a cut that was bleeding slightly, but she could see to that later. Malienna sighed to herself. Who knew what they might find ahead, but they could hardly afford to lose another member of their group, and if Deorlin was hurt, they could not waste too much time in finding him. And with every moment they lingered, the horse thieves were getting further and further ahead…with Rohan’s precious horses.

No, they could not delay much longer. Malienna silently checked Naroch’s tack, finding nothing terribly beyond repair, being ready to depart swiftly when the command came.

[ January 06, 2003: Message edited by: *Varda* ]

[Estel the Descender]

'That man!' Izrênna exclaimed, Where is the man?'

Béowulf looked at her wondering what she meant.

'The one...the one...that was ahead,' continued Izrênna.

'Deorlin!' exclaimed Anglachel, suddenly remembering, 'He is not here!'

Deorlin! thought Béowulf, Another Rider of the Mark!

'Where is he?' Izrênna asked again.

'We must look for him!' said Izrênna, looking at the ground, hoping to find any sign of Deorlin's tracks.

'Can any of you read tracks?' she called out to the group, 'We may be able to tell where he went through the markings he left!'

'I may be of service!' said Béowulf, 'In what direction do you think he went?' If there is another Rider who needs rescue or. . . burial, I need to be one of those to do it.

'Save the Horses!' cried Corrin the Dwarf 'Save Deorlin! Ha-hah! Yesh! Let's go!'

Béowulf once again took the Dwarf to ride with him. (Léod was still not pleased by the arrangement, but he made no fuss this time). Izrênna also by this time had mounted and both Rider and Dwarf joined her.

After riding for some time, Izrênna was the first to see Deorlin where he lay. She spurred her horse ahead of the others, gladdened that they were able to find him, and was soon near the wounded man.

[ January 06, 2003: Message edited by: Estel the Descender ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Surprised at how much her plea for aid in finding Deorlin was listened to, Izrênna watched, in awe, as others did what she said. People had never awaited orders from her in any way, much less in how to go about finding a missing companion.

Izrênna rode around, looking for any sign of Deorlin she could see. She saw an odd indentation. She also thought she saw some sort of form in the water nearby.

She spurred her horse forward, giving a shout. She saw that it was Deorlin's body as she drew near. She dismounted the horse while he was still in motion and ran over to the body. He still seemed alive, though he was obviously badly hurt.

Izrênna struggled to lift the large, strong warrior out of the water before the others got there. She managed to pull him out fairly well, but his legs were still in the water. Béowulf and Corrin, who were sharing a horse, were the first to catch up, and they aided in pulling the wet body out of the water. Izrênna panted with the effort of moving this heavy man.

When Deorlin was safely out of the water, Izrênna stood, her outfit now fairly wet. She shivered in the cold winter air and prayed that she did not catch some horrible illness that would cause her company to lose yet another comrade before the horses were safely recaptured.

She kneeled down by Deorlin and touched his arm. She saw his eyes open a very little bit. She thought she could hear him make a small groaning sound before he lapsed back into an unconscious state.

"Thank the Vala he is alive," Izrênna whispered, touching the man's face. She suddenly remembered those around her, "Help me move him!" she shouted.
"Does he live?" Beowulf asked.

"Aye, but just barely," Corrin said in a serious tone from where he stood, "We should get him back to the others immediately. Let us help the girl lift him."

The group hefted the heavy man onto Izrênna's horse, and Izrênna boosted herself up behind him. The other two stood a ways off and spoke quietly for a moment, Izrênna knew not what about, then they came and mounted up.

"Let us go back to camp," Beowulf said, "We must give Deorlin aid."

"I do not think we can press forward at too swift a pace," Izrênna said, looking at the injured Deorlin, still mostly unconscious in front of her, "I leave it to you to decide whether I press on with you or not. If it is what you desire, I shall stay here in the glade with Deorlin and you can press ahead. We should not leave him unattended and I am probably the most expendable on this mission. If it is what you desire, I can ride back to that glade and stay with Deorlin until...if...you return."

She looked at the others, realizing for the first time that any or all of those on this quest really and truly could, in all honesty die on this mission. Many could die to save a few horses. Izrênna bit her lip and suddenly felt tears in her eyes. These were great, noble people, she realized, and she wondered how she could have not seen it before. What she considered to be a simple task of finding a few stolen horses had become so much more. It was not only a quest to find lost animals, but it was proof of the wonders that a small band of people could do when they worked together for a single goal, no matter how small the goal was.

Izrênna sighed, blinking back her tears, and holding onto Deorlin, as the others seemed to think about whether to leave her behind or not.

"Do not feel guilt for leaving me," Izrênna said, "For, if I would be of more use here with Deorlin, I would rather stay. We cannot move too quickly with this man, though, I warn you."

"I do not think that we should separate," Corrin said, "After what happened when Deorlin ran ahead. Although you may be fine with a bow at long distances, if there was to be more danger in these parts, both you and Deorlin would be open to attack. But I suppose we should ask the others, for it is up to the group as a whole to decide."

Izrênna bit her lip for a second in thought. She felt her horse shift his weight a little, though not from strain. Although this was not the largest of horses, Izrênna thought that he might be sturdy enough to bear two riders, as she had originally offered.

"If Deorlin awakes," Izrênna began slowly, "I think that I should be fine. My horse may be smaller than yours are, but I do not think that an alert man would be too much of a hinderance. If, however, Deorlin remains unconscious when it is time to leave, I suggest that you let us ride back."

Izrênna silently hoped that Deorlin would wake in time, for she did not want to ride back to the Inn. As she sat in a slightly confused stupor, she turned her horse, and began to trot slowly back to the glade, careful to keep a tight hold on the semi-conscious Deorlin.

She noticed that the two men remained a little ways behind her, speaking of she knew not what. She wished that this group would let her in on their secrets, but, then again, they were men, and no matter how skilled she was, they would still hold a fraternity with each other that no woman could ever penetrate into. She sighed and spurred her horse on a bit to give the men their space as they made their way back to camp and to relative safety...

[ January 08, 2003: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Garen LiLorian]

Gormel ran down a dark tunnel, sweat pouring from every inch of his heavily muscled body. Eyes gleamed at him from every side, teeth long and sharp snapped at his heels. Then, abruptly, he was free. He turned and howled, a long, drawn out sound of triumph. His howl was echoed.

He spun, slow as cold honey. He felt the awful weight of the thing crashing down onto him, the rancid breath two inches from his face, the mighty claws scratching furrows into the flesh of his arms and torso. Then there was pain, and a howl of a different sort. His left shoulder disappeared in red, and all he saw was the yellow of the great beasts eyes, closing in...

Gormel awoke with a sound too guttural to be a scream and too panicked to be anything else. He started to bring his hands up to defend, to hold the beast away from him, but his shoulder caused him to collapse back, whining softly like a hurt animal. The camp was dark. Night had fallen, and those who had survived the great animals attack were huddled around a campfire, blazing bright into the darkness.

Gormel tested his shoulder, and winced sharply as the pain flared through it. The dressing was good and tight, though. He wondered who had taken the trouble. Bhurthnin was no healer, and he knew full well there were many in his band who would sooner drag a knife across his throat than bind his wounds. He wondered also who had been dragged off by the beasts. He felt for his sword. Not there. His spear, the haft snapped, lay at his right hand, though, and he palmed the point. If someone was looking to lead the thieves, this would be an excellent time finish the Warg's work. That someone would have a surprise waiting, though, Gormel thought, and grinned through the haze of pain. Had to keep awake... "A sleeping sheep hears no wolves" he thought, and grinned again. Different wolves, though. Just had to keep...

Gormel ran down a dark tunnel...

[ January 06, 2003: Message edited by: Garen LiLorian ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Kane looked up from a game of dice as he heard a wild animal cry. Glancing around, his hand on his sword, he saw it was Gormel who had screamed. He cursed silently- he would rather have had wild animals than Gormel coming around. He wouldnt be as easy to deal with.

Looking back, he ended the game, taking his meagre winnings, then exchanged a look with Rhana. Her dark eyes flickered across briefly to Bhurthnin. They were only there for a second, but Kane understood. He nodded slightly then raised an eyebrow, questioningly.

"How?" He murmered, for her ears only.
A shrug in reply. "Not sure. I mean, Bhurthnin is a strong player of dice and no mistake." She added louder, smiling, seeing that the object of their discussion was looking at them strangely. "I dont know how we would be able to beat him."

Bhurthnin snorted slightly in a way that was quite possibly some primeval form of laugh before he turned around to face the fire again, unaware of the hidden meanings carried.

"It would be easier to beat another, for his mind is wandering." Kane replied in an equally cryptic way, flashing a glance at Gormel. "I suspect he would be easier to beat."

"Men are weak in the night." Rhana replied. Kane couldnt help smiling at this and, partly for the look of it to anyone who might have been watching, he shoved her to the side, knocking the slim woman as she was caught unaware. She grabbed his hand on the way down though, making him lose his balance, pulling him over. Kane put his arms out just in time, on either side of Rhana, his face equal with hers. For a moment, his eyes caught with those of the beautiful foreign horsewoman and the world seemed frozen...before Rhana shoved Kane and he pulled himself off.

Shaking his head, clearing such strange thoughts that had entered, he squatted onto his haunches and spoke again in the cryptic way they had before. "I think I shall try against such a one then. I will be able to beat him this night."

" Its a high risk game Kane."
"And a high prize Rhana. From which we would both benefit." With that he turned back to the fire, working out how he would deal with Gormel...

[Orofacion of the Vanyar]

Ulfeg threw two rabbits down beside Kane and dropped another infront of himself. He took out a small cutting knife from his boot and began skinning his catch. "They ain't much, but if you think hard enough, they can taste like a thick roast... maybe," Ulfeg said spearing some meat with a stick and placing it over the fire.

"Your leader's wounded, bad I measure." There wasn't much response. "There a second in command?" Still nothing. Ulfeg moved closer to Kane, "If you wanna save your neck, as well as that pretty little thing's over there, you'd best think long an' hard about how you're gonna do him in," Ulfeg said in a whisper, nodding towards Gormel.

"Now I know what you're thinkin', who am I and what business I got here?" Ulfeg reached in his saddle bag and showed his sealed letter, and a vile of liquid. "This is for howler over there. I'm supposed to give it to em', but I don't think he's in a reading mood at the moment. Can you hand me that rabbit over there?" Ulfeg asked pointing to one of the two beside him. As Kane looked away, Ulfeg poured the contents of the vile onto the cooked rabbit and slipped it under his sleeve. "Here, this one's done," Ulfeg said handing the cooked rabbit to Kane, and taking the other.

[ January 09, 2003: Message edited by: Orofacion of the Vanyar ]

[Deorlin]

Deorlin's head swam in a foggy mist, his limbs feeling like leaden sticks. The only sound he heard was the thumping of a drum somewhere, very far off, but very rhythmic.He no longer felt the water against his skin; his body was numb and unresponsive to the tentative signals he was trying to send it to move. Once again he tried desperately to remember what had happened, but it was still a blur.

Time passed, Deorlin slipping in and out of consciousness. At one point, he dreamed he looked up and saw a face, the face of the woman he had sneered at back at the inn, at Edoras. Now why would she be in his dreams? He felt himself being tugged at and pulled; at first he thought it was a wolf, worrying at him, trying to nip at his legs and arms. Where was his sword? Then the wolf changed into the woman again, and she bending over him, speaking to him, calling his name. But her voice was so far away - he saw her lips move but heard no sound. The woman melted away and once again he was being pushed and pulled, this way and that. He felt his body rising, being lifted up, and for an instant he felt the warmth and smelt the wonderful animal smell of horse. He might have groaned, he really didn't know. Then all was blackness again and the dream was gone.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Kane opened the letter, curious, and read it slowly, his eyes widening as he did. He opened his mouth to say something to Ulfeg before someone hit hit head with the flat of their hand, hard. Standing and turning furiously in one movement, Kane came face to face with Bhurthnin.

"Whats your problem?" He demanded.

Bhurthnins eyes narrowed and he grabbed hold of Kanes shirt, pulling him closer. "Your tongue will over reach your abilities one day, boy. Ive had enough of your cheek." He growled. "And now you start causing trouble, plotting I think!"

His hand now came up holding a knife close to Kanes face. The young easterling caught Rhanas eye and she nodded. He thought fast. "Plotting? Surely not." He forced himself to sound almost jovial. "Tell you what though, Bhurthnin; I will play you a game of dice."

The big man looked at him in surprise and suspicion. "Why?"

"Well, you are at least the best in the camp at that game. I will play you; If I win, you will drop your suspicions of me." Kane talked fast; he could now see the glint of the blade a few inches from his eye.

Bhurthnins eyes narrowed again, suspicion returning. "And my prize?"

Your prize. Once more his eyes flickered to Rhana in a brief apology, but once again she nodded. Now, how to get the brute to say it himself to avoid yet more suspicion..."What would you suggest? Money? Oh surely not." He said quickly as he saw Bhurthnin was about to suggest this. "Wouldnt you like something more precious, more enjoyable...?" He said suggestively. Now he let his eyes wander to Rhana once again, for longer this time. Bhurthnin followed his gaze and his eyes lingered on the woman. A slow smile spread over his ugly features and he pointed with a thick finger. "Her. Thats what I want as my prize."

Rhana gave a small smile to Kane, then put on every show that this was exactly what she didnt want. "Me? You will involve me in your game of cards?" She spat. Bhurthnins face darkened. "I want you or nothing, and Ill kill you both."

Rhana opened her mouth again but Bhurthnin got in first. "No excuses."

"Fine." Kane said quietly, trying not to smile. "Lets play."

As they sat, Bhurthnin snatched the pair of 8 sided dice like a spoilt child. The prizes had already been decided on, so he took his first throw, but rashly. They jumped over the muddy ground, ending with one dice facing up with the rune for two points, one with the mark for losing a point. Bhurthnin grunted and Kane smiled outwardly, much to the irritation of the big man. He threw the dice with a quick flick of his wrist and they skittered over the ground, ending up with far better results than Bhurthnins.

The game carried on, with Kane winning easily, until he decided it was time for the real plan to come into play. He took his turn simply dropping the dice onto the board and losing half his points in one go. Bhurthnin let out a series of grunts that Kane guessed might be laughing and his ugly face twisted into a sort of smile. Kane kept losing points, but he was having trouble; Bhurthnin was a terrible player at dice and was only winning by a fraction. Kane groaned inwardly. Ah well, now to make the ending move. He paused, the dice in his hands, and his eyes met with Rhana's, a hint of worry there. She shook her head and moved a small knife in her clothing out so he could just see its sharp blade. Taking a deep breath, Kane made the move to end the game; he had had long practise at getting the exact side he wanted in games with such idiots. Dropping the dice, he looked down and forced himself to groan. They had both landed on the crude skull sign.

"Hur hur hur...Sudden death!" Bhurthnin snorted. "I win....my prize!"

He stood suddenly and in a few strides had grabbed Rhana. "Come on, my darlin'" He breathed salaciously into her ear. "Lets go."

[ January 11, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Maikadilwen]

Rhana kept a worried eye on the game, realising that it was difficult for Kane to lose, even though he was supposed to. Not because he didn't want to, but simply because Bhurthnin was the worst player of dice she had ever seen.
She rolled her eyes and took a look around the camp. Sadiya appeared to be asleep with the child in her arms, and the newcomer, Ulfeg, was watching the game from a distance.

Suddenly she was struck by a terrible thought. What if she failed? She had done this several times before, but Bhurthnin was a large, strong man. She shuddered and her stomach turned by the thought of what could happen if she wasn't careful.

Forcing herself to calm down she glanced at Kane and noticed the concerned look in his eyes. Shaking her head, she showed him her blade, assuring him that she could take care of herself, and he dropped the dice to lose the game.

Rhana closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. She cast a quick glance back at Kane, as Bhurthnin grabbed her arm and dragged her away with him into a group of trees. "He can't help you now, love, he just lost you!" he said with a hoarse laugh. "And now I want my prize!"

He shoved her against a tree and she closed her eyes, gritting her teeth in disgust, as he leaned against her, his hands finding their way under her clothes, groping and searching.
Slowly her hand moved toward her knife, and she grabbed firmly around the hilt.

Not a sound escaped him when she slit his throat, he just glared at her, a surprised look on his face. She slipped out of his grasp and quickly stepped away from him, watching the large man fall to the ground as his blood swiftly left his body.
A satisfied smile appeared on her face as she stood, looking at the lifeless body on the ground. Once again a man had been lured into the trap and had fallen for that trick.
She shook her head over such stupidity and kneeled down to search his pockets. She found nothing but grabbed the flask in his belt and went back to the camp.

Kane saw her first, since he had been staring the way they had left, all the time. Rhana didn't return is gaze, but dropped down by the fire next to Ulfeg, pulling her fur-coat close around her. She opened the flask she had taken from Bhurthnin's body and quickly emptied it, staring into the flames with an empty look.

[ January 11, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Anglachel]

Daylight had completely faded before any form of normalcy returned to the company. By the time the team had become organized for pursuit, the gibbous moon was high in the night sky. After a brief discussion, and even though precious hours had been lost, it was agreed upon by the group that they would restart their chase at first sign of light. While some of the pursuers took this time to get a few hours of sleep, Anglachel remained awake and took stock on what had occurred in the hours after the warg attack.

Ælfritha, with some enlisted help, was able to gather a healthy portion of the company’s scattered supplies together. With the loss of the pack horse, the remaining goods had to be distributed amongst the other company members. This was quickly seen to, and soon each person was equipped with a marginally heavier pack.

Anglachel, with some assistance, saw to it that Hading was laid to rest. The burial spot was just north of the river Snowbourne, not ten steps from where the warrior had fallen in battle. A cairn of rocks was hastily erected over the grave of the horseman. It was the only honor the company could bestow upon one who died bravely in combat.

It was not the recovery of supplies nor the burial of Hading that Anglachel was now dwelling upon though, but rather what was going to occur with the injured Deorlin and his newly assigned protector Izrenna. He briefly rehashed the events of Deorlin’s return to the company in his mind.

While rocks were being gathered for Hading’s cairn and Ælfritha was busy dividing up the supplies, Izrenna had returned with Corrin and Beowulf. She had Deorlin perched precariously on the back of her horse while she kept him as steady as she could. It was immediately apparent that he was still alive, he was wounded and nearly frozen, but alive nonetheless.

A fire was quickly started and Ælfritha was able to piece together a set of dry clothes for Deorlin from the remnants of the supplies. Deorlin remained unconscious while he was placed by the fire, dressed in dry clothing, and had his wounds treated as thoroughly as possible.

Anglachel looked over to where Deorlin was sleeping next to the fire. His breathing was even and color had returned to his skin, yet he would be in no shape to travel anytime soon. Fortunately, Izrenna – for reasons not fully understood by Anglachel – volunteered to remain with the injured man until he was able to ride again. He recalled the conversation:

“My horse can carry both of us,” Izrenna had said. “If he wakes up soon and seems to be coherent, we can still follow you. Otherwise, I can take him back to Edoras. There will be little danger on the road back.”

“It is not the road to Edoras that presents the danger that concerns me,” Anglachel had responded. “The wargs will be satiated for the time being on horse flesh, but they could easily come again. You have a half day at most before I would look for the return of those foul beasts.”

Anglachel thought for a moment and continued, “If Deorlin does not regain much of his health by midday tomorrow, Izrenna, you must find a way to get him on your horse and back to Edoras. I realize that is not much time, but you must not take any chances with wargs loose in the Mark. Keep your bow notched at all times, and be extremely weary of the woods. I would leave Corrin and Beowulf to assist you, but we are already short both horses and more importantly, those who can wield a weapon against an enemy.”

Anglachel felt he could trust Izrenna to make the right decisions in this matter though he did not wish to see her left alone to guard Deorlin, especially with the uncertain condition he was in. Nevertheless, she was good with a bow and a competent rider. Perhaps more importantly, there was really little choice.

These thoughts still occupied his mind as darkness turned slowly to the grey light of early morning. The company was in need of haste, so Anglachel woke the others and preparations were made for a pre-sunrise departure. Though little sleep had been granted to the group, there was a level of anticipation to begin the next leg of their journey which allowed the pursuers to appear as almost refreshed. Anglachel spotted Izrenna gloomily watching the company make final readiness to leave. Though he did not expect to see her or Deorlin again on this journey, he placated her by describing the path they would be taking south along the Entwash in pursuit.

Soon, the six remaining members of the company were mounted and under way. Ælfritha, Anglachel, Malienna, and Maikadurion each rode singly while Corrin and Beowulf once again rode double. They quickly and uneventfully crossed the Snowbourne and made there way to the banks of the Entwash before urging their horses into a speedier gait south. As the sun rose to his left, now peeking through the branches on the far bank, Anglachel could not help but ponder the near disaster they encountered the previous day, nor could he shake the worry that they had lost too much time as the thieves plunged ahead towards more dangerous lands.

[Gryphon Hall]

Corrin was getting really warmed up now. At last, he was of some use. At last...

'Excuse me, Master Dwarf,' said a voice behind him. It was Béowulf. 'It's Corrin,' he replied. 'What d'you want.'

Béowulf pointed at Léod, saying 'We need the speed if we are to keep up with her.' Both horse and dwarf let out a very audible sigh. Corrin looked the horse straight in the eye (who also looked back) and said, 'Look horse, er, Léod, eh? don't try to kill me please. Don't drop me, don't throw me, DON'T KILL ME! If you spare me, I'll give you some sugar. What do you say?'

The horse gave him a meaningful glance. Léod was not pleased with the dwarf on him, but the promise of sugar prevented him from fussing. 'Up you go,' said Béowulf, then hoisted the heavy armored Corrin up.

Izrênna was already a little way ahead but Léod had no desire to ride up to her and her horse. So they continued thus until Izrênna suddenly spurred her horse forward, giving a shout. Alerted, Léod also began to sprint.

Not for long, for they reached the water's edge where Izrênna had dismounted and was struggling to pull a body out of the water.

To the relief of Corrin, Léod stopped swiftly but not suddenly, so he did not fall this time. But now came a new problem, how does he dismount. He saw Béowulf swing his leg over his mount's head, then drop to the ground. Okay, lesee, let's give that a try. Corrin kicked his right leg forward, then toppled backward across the rump of Léod.

'Oh, dang!' said Corrin, picking himself up swiftly, then running towards where Béowulf and Izrênna were struggling to pull the large warrior out. By the time he got there, though, all that remained to be pulled out were Deorlin's ankles.

Izrênna quickly tended to Deorlin. 'Thank the Vala he is alive,' Izrênna whispered, touching the man's face. She suddenly remembered those around her, 'Help me move him!' she shouted.

'Does he live?' Beowulf asked.

Corrin made a big show of putting his ear to the man's chest (Can't hear a thing! Oh, it's the armor...) then to the man's mouth and nose, where he heard a sigh.

'Aye, but just barely,' Corrin said in what he hoped was a serious, responsible tone.'We should get him back to the others immediately.' Woooo, that sounded so, so, 'heroic', thought Corrin happily, then Oh, what can I be thinking at a time like this. Someone needs help. 'Let us help the girl lift him.'

[ February 02, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Bêthberry]

Normally taciturn, Ælfritha had become even more withdrawn, perhaps even morose, as the ride wore on. She had tried her best to respond politely to Malienna's attempts at conversation, but her mind was elsewhere, and Malienna soon wearied of the hesitant yes or no answers.

Coming upon what appeared to be the thieves' camp had changed the mood and tone of almost all the riders, but Ælfritha was particularly disturbed by the discovery. It had been Maikadurion, with his keen eyes, who had first made out the makeshift grave, and then the trampled, bloodied tracks.

The grave was unsettling in itself, for it had been disturbed by maurading small animals; the condition of the corpse has sickened everyone. It was galling to disrupt the pursuit to rebury one of the very thieves they had wished to catch, but the Rohirrim were moved by a sense of decency. And, strangely, the ritual seemed to some restore some small sense of decorum to a situation which was increasingly confused and frustrating.

Clearly, there had been horses lost here also, not just Doric in the attack they had sustained. Ælfritha had known every one of the four horses stolen from the White Horse stable. She had broken each one, trained each, curried each, cared for each. She knew where one was scared, where another had had a pulled tendon, where a third skin infections underneath its hair. She knew them almost as intimately as a mother knows her first child. And now she had a dread sense that at least several of the stolen horses were lost to whargs. Unease sat in her mouth like an iron bit as she wondered what else lay in store.

[Airerûthiel]

Maikadurion's heart was as heavy as the stones of Meduseld as he wandered aimlessly in the countryside surrounding the pursuers' last camp, not particularly concerned with whether or not he lost the group. Secretly he suspected that, while his new companions were hospitable towards him, he was about as much use to them as the end of a broken sword is to the child of kings.

"Mayhap this is not my place," he said to himself in a sombre tone barely audible by even himself. "I asked only for the chance to avenge the name of my family and the strength and wisdom to find my mother's horse. Instead I find myself as what I am - barely out of childhood, yet not grown to be a man worthy of the position and name bestowed upon those whose blood flows through my veins."

The keen eyes he had inherited from his mother - her only legacy save Formenelen - searched the landscape surrounding him. Not seeing the other riders, he continued on ahead, still trying to present the constant cheeriness and good humour that hid who he truly was - an orphan attempting what seemed to be an impossible task for even the greatest king of Men.

And then he saw it.

The remnants of a camp, complete with charred ground where a small fire had blazed and the compressed patches of grass where figures had lain and horses had stood. But the sight that disgusted Maikadurion's eyes the most was the unmistakeably recognisable rectangular patch of raised ground, left in sickening condition due to marauding small animals.

"Death has visited this place," whispered the half-Elf, kneeling down in the verdant ocean of soft green blades, stained with rivers of pale red in patches that sent a horribly familiar taste into his mouth, which was already dry as as a river after a seven-season drought, making him feel incredibly ill. "One of those who took the horses of my friends has met his end here, and while it may be no more than he deserves, common decency says that we should bury him with the correct decorum employed in this matter."

But his attention was diverted by trampled, bloodied tracks leading east. He picked up one of the indelibly stained grass blades and rubbed it between the index finger and thumb of his right hand, inhaling the stench that came from them shortly afterwards. It was a distinctive smell that had reached his senses many a time when he had worked as a stable boy - it was the blood of a horse.

Suddenly, he turned at the sound of thundering hooves that shook the ground to its very foundations, and his new-found friends came riding up to him. Ælfritha dismounted from her horse and walked towards him. "Are you all right?" she asked, looking from the Gondorian's face to the makeshift grave and back again. "We thought you'd run off again. But I won't scold you for that this time - you've helped put us back on the right route after the thieves. Well done, my young friend!"

The funeral of the nameless robber was the first Maikadurion had ever attended - his father had not been lucky enough to receive a decent burial, and he was not permitted to attended that of his mother on the grounds that 'no child should have to see their parent buried when they are as young as the sons of Orowethwen and Théomer'. As the others lowered the companion of those they tracked into the ground, he followed the trail of horse blood a little way ahead of everyone else. All he hoped for was that the blood shed was not that of the North Star, for if it was so then he would have to go back to being a Ranger once again.

[*Varda*]

Malienna stood silently and sombrely as the dead thief was buried and placed into the ground. She knew that this was indeed the decent and right thing to do, but at the same thing she was filled with a sense of hatred, for these callous thieves who stole horses in the dead of night, who cared nothing for others, hardly anything for their own kin. It was so far away from her own life that she could not even comprehend what it must be to live like that, with fear and hatred, a life of theft and murder. Malienna shuddered inwardly.

Feeling uncomfortable by the grave, she slowly rode over and rode alongside Maikadurion.

“It was good of you to find the trail,” she said to him. “It might have taken us longer, otherwise, and we should have lost more time in the pursuit of the thieves.”

Malienna looked ahead and scanned the horizon, thinking at first that she saw a few black specks away, far ahead, but peering ahead, she couldn’t make out who or what they were. Sighing, she looked back, hoping for the rest of the group to finish with the burial.

[Deorlin]

Deorlin groaned heavily, his eyes half opening. His tongue felt like leather and his thrist was enormous.

"Water . . . water." he managed to get out of his parched throat, although the words were greatly slurred.

"Water?" Izrenna said with a small laugh. "I'd have thought you had had enough of water to last you for a lifetime." Even as groggy as he was, Deorlin could still hear the relief in her voice.

He felt her slip her hand behind his head, lifting it so that the flask she held in her other hand could more easily reach his mouth. "This will do you better than water, for the moment, anyway." she said softly. The contents poured into his mouth, and though at first he coughed and spluttered, the liquid cooled and refreshed his burning throat. He gulped greedily and gratefully.

"What . . . what happened? Where are we? Are the others gone?" He gazed at Izrenna's concerned face and knew that he was in serious condition, although his own body had not yet quite caught on to the fact. But he heard no other noises, other than his own labored breathing. No sound of horses, no talking or moving about. Instinctively he knew, they were alone.

"The horses, the thieves, have they gone after them still? How long have I lain here?"

His little strength spent, he let his head fall back to the earth. But he looked at Izrenna, waiting for her to tell what she could.

[Orofacion of the Vanyar]

"I hope you enjoyed yer'self, cause now we got all these horses and one wounded to tend to now," Ulfeg said as he took a swig of his leather flask. He stared at Rhana, expecting a response but she only sat still and quiet, looking at the fire infront of her. Ulfeg spat to his side. "Like talkin' to a dwarf," he muddled under his breath. Ulfeg got up and walked out to the edge of the camp, staring out onto the dark plains.

It seemed Kane and Rhana were plotting something together, that of which Ulfeg couldn't quite put his hand on at the moment. It was obvious the two were close. In matters like this, Ulfeg usually kept his place, bidding his time till an opportune moment arrived and the advantage would be his. But Ulfeg was getting steadily frustrated with the thieves, they didn't seem to have any idea what the stakes of this mission were. His job was clearly laid out, escort the company back to the meeting place where he had left the tall dark man. From there they would either leave the horses and go on their way or move the horses to another location if instructed to do so. Ulfeg didn't like the change in affairs, or the mood, and he didn't take well to the deception.

Ulfeg turned around and faced the camp. "Alright, before you two get any more ideas, I'll let you in on a little something. Right now you're all being watched, by somethin' you know nothin' of. You mess this mission up, you'll find yourself missing a neck. There's people out there that'll slice you without a second thought, I know cause I work for em'. Get me?"

[Maikadilwen]

Rhana jumped on her feet, soon standing toe to toe with Ulfeg, her knife drawn. "I'll slice you without a second thought!", she snarled at him, ready to take whatever he had.
Kane jumped up and grabbed her, swiftly pulling her away from an almost certain death. She fought hard but he refused to let go of her until she calmed down. Rhana narrowed her dark eyes as she looked at Kane, spitting against him, barely missing his feet. "I thought you wanted to take over the leadership of this pack", she hissed, angry that he had not yet shown any leader-abilities. "I suggest you do something, very soon. Else you might end up regretting it. Accidents happen all the time, Kane!", she said, not taking her eyes away from his face.

She left Kane staring after her as she walked toward Gormel, an idea forming in her mind. She was a survivor and she knew exactly how she could get out of this alive if their current plan failed.
Kneeling next to Gormel, she checked on his wounds. They seemed to be healing just fine. He would be weak for some time because of the severe bloodloss he had suffered.
Rhana turned and looked back against Kane and Ulfeg. If it turned out she couldn't count on Kane....
She bent down over Gormel, leaning close to his ear. "You are in danger, Gormel" she whispered, keeping an eye on the others. "You hear me? Bhurthnin.....had an unfortunate accident. You're alone now, Gormel!"

Slowly she rose and walked back toward the others, when she suddenly realised that Sadiya was looking at her. She stopped for a moment in front of her, unsure of what she had seen or heard, then decided to let it go. The woman was wisely too concerned about the safety of her child to say anything.
Kane looked at her as she sat down by the fire, across from him. "So?", he asked her. When she finally spoke, she looked straight at him, making sure he knew what she was saying. "His wounds are healing fine. He'll soon be up and back in the lead." Kane slowly nodded, confirming without a word that he had understood her message.

[ January 18, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Izrênna paused for a second, worried about how much she should tell Deorlin. He was in no condition to travel immediately and she was worried that if she told him the truth, he would immeditately want to follow them. Deorlin was in no condition to travel at all, even over short distances at the moment. Some of his wounds were not horribly serious, but others...those others looked as if they were not even beginning their healing process well.

But what was she to tell him? He would know she was lying if she were to tell him that the group was merely foraging for firewood and food for supper. However, he could not know the truth, could he? But he would have to learn the truth eventually, and it would be better if he learned it now, as he would feel horrible rancor towards her if she were to hold information from him and especially if she were to lie to him.

"Izrênna?" Deorlin asked again, a little softer, as speaking was obviously weakening him.

Izrênna shook herself out of her daze. She realized that she had just been standing there for some time. She quickly made up her mind on what to say.

"They had to leave," she said, "For they had to complete the mission that was laid before them. I offered to stay here with you, as you are in absolutely no condition to depart. We could not bring you with them, for you would have hindered their progress. I was instructed that, as I offered to stay here and aid you and even protect you, if more foes were to return. I am also to take you to the closest civilization tomorrow if you are not well then. I doubt that you will be well, so I would accustom myself to returning, if I was in your place."

Izrênna took a small sigh and knelt back down next to the prostrate man, laying helplessly on the ground. She saw him think about what she said quietly for a second. Izrênna busied herself changing some of the bandages and pretending to be busy fussing over Deorlin's wounds, all the while worrying about what his response to the present situation would be.

"Those were the orders they gave you?" Deorlin reconfirmed, "To return to civilization with me?"

"Yes, if you are unwell," Izrênna reconfirmed, sitting up straight and kneeling next to Deorlin, "And you are unwell, so we must return tomorrow. You cannot be better by then."

"What classifies 'unwell' in your eyes?" Deorlin asked, obviously formulating a plan in his mind.

"What you are at the moment," Izrênna said, gesturing to Deorlin's wounds, and wincing while she did so, "Anyway, they said that, if by midday today, you were not awake, we were to return to Edoras no matter what your condition when you awoke. We are too far behind as of now."

Deorlin, however, remained silent at that. She could tell that he was thinking, and she worried that she knew what he was plotting. She had been considering the same thing. What if they were to disregard the last part and they followed? Anglachel had said that this part would get dangerous again, but what if they were to follow? The group ahead would eliminate any danger, and Izrênna did want to join up with the group and finish the quest...

Izrênna did not speak her feelings out loud at this time, however, and she made herself busy around the camp, noting Deorlin's eyes following her all the while as he plotted silently to himself...

[Deorlin]

Deorlin digested Izrenna's news carefully. To return to Edoras? Without Frey? This was unthinkable! He saw the uncertainty in the young woman's eyes. He sensed that she felt uncomfortable - but was it because she regretted her decision to stay behind with him? Or did she know that to return with his tail between his legs, having not only deserted his duty and his fellow chasers, but also his truest and best friend and companion, was totally inpossible for him, no matter what his condition?

Which brought the next obvious question to mind, what exactly was his condition?

"Izrenna, my wounds, how bad are they?" He was just now beginning to feel the rips and tears in his legs and forearms. The wargs had not meant to make a meal of him, apparently. But they had certainly done a good job of disabling him and driving him into the river. It was all coming back very clearly, in fact, much too clearly now.

"Well . . . " Her hesitation alone spoke volumes. "There are many superficial bites and tears on your calves and forearms. but . . . The gash on your thigh is deep, very deep. I think falling in the river actually saved you. The chill of the water slowed the bleeding; otherwise . . ." Izrenna's eyes strayed to the bandage covering the ugly gash running from his right knee up at least several inches. The bone had showed through the torn and mutilated flesh, and they had had to bind it extremely tight to stop the new bleeding. Even now, she feared for the rest of the limb, which was cold to the touch. There was no way he could ride far or fast with such a wound, let alone fight if it came to that. Still, she knew what was in his mind.

"Rest now. Don't think on it." She said soothingly.

But Deorlin needed no time to think of what he would do. Whether Izrenna would help him or no, tomorrow he would be up, mounted or walking, and following the others, to recover his horse, or die trying.

[Bêthberry]

There was riding, riding, terrible determined riding that endured without end until the horses were nearly winded and almost crippled. And the riders were stiff with cold, with fatigue, with clenched tension throughout their bodies. Hooves struck the ground with thudding force, reverberating up their legs, their whithers, their flanks into the riders' legs and hips and backs, grinding bone against bone and joint against joint with each jolt.

Sometimes the ground gave way, and the crusted rim of frozen earth collapsed under the weight of the horses. This did nothing to ease the tension; it merely added new worry to the pursuit, that a horse would stumble or an ankle turn, or a rider fall.

Sometimes the wind blew, hollow and echoing across the broad plain, sweeping down from East Emmet and colliding with the damp fog-encrusted air which drifted over from the Nindalf. Sometimes ice crystals hung in the air around the riders and horses, so both were covered in a mantle of pale white reflections, producing ghostly figures which hunkered down over the land until the sun produced a pale yellow light which glimmered sickly in the crisp air.

They passed evidence of two camps, men hurriedly making a fire and then dousing it, feet and hooves stomping the ground into a pulp of earth and moss and stone. The last fire had still been warm to the hand even though the pursuers could not yet see the thieves in the distance. Yet the air shook ahead of them, as if some disturbance lay there for them to capture. And they were angry with each other, angry that they could not rest, angry that they could not catch up quickly, angry that they were no longer sure these thieves could be caught. Few words were spoken even during the short stops to determine the thieves's direction and none at all while riding.

The Mering Stream ran chilly into the Entwash, running too fast yet to be frozen. It was crossed with little difficulty as the pursuers drove on into Anórien. The bitter irony of its name, Sun-land, was lost on them as off to the southwest the White Mountains glistened with frozen peaks.

[ January 16, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Anglachel]

Time passed quickly as the company made its way steadily south and east along the Entwash. To the south of the riders, the plains opened up nearly as far as the eye could see. Yet, the plains would only serve as a backdrop as the chase was intimately following the path of the swiftly flowing Entwash, rapidly guiding the small group towards darker lands. At their current pace, the pursuers would easily reach the Anduin in less than two days.

Though it was not spoken, no member of the group wished to see the Great River. The Anduin served to be both a physical and psychological barrier. Though times were troubled, the riders held some comfort knowing the western side of the river remained as friendly soil. Crossing over would be venturing into lands rife with peril. Given the small size of the group and its current exhausted condition, pursuit across the Anduin seemed to be certain folly.

These musings dominated Anglachel’s thoughts as he rode on with the others in silence. He knew all too well that this group was too stubborn to give up the chase now that there was clear evidence ground was being gained on the thieves. Nevertheless, the Anduin grew closer every hour and the quarry had yet to be spotted. As the sun dipped into the west behind the mountains, the ensuing shadows too plainly reminded him of the growing sense of foreboding that consistently distracted his thoughts.

[ January 17, 2003: Message edited by: Anglachel ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Izrênna passed the evening quietly. She did not speak and neither did Deorlin. She could almost feel his brain working, developing the plan he seemed to be concocting. While she feared what this new plan would entail, for it would probably be risky and they would get in an enormous amount of trouble for what he would plan, she also desperately desired to know this new plan.

Later, as the moon rose in the sky, Izrênna began preparing a small meal of what little provisions she had. She went over to change the bandages again. In the firelight, at least, Deorlin's wounds seemed to maybe look a little better. She grew hopeful that he would quickly return to health. She knew that her face clearly showed her relief.

"Do you think that your body could handle food?" Izrênna asked Deorlin.

"Probably," he answered.

"Well, no matter what you think, you are going to try. You need nutrition." Izrênna said, going over to the fire. She gave Deorlin some food, then fetched some for herself. She sat a few feet away from Deorlin, eating quietly. He ate silently too. After they were done, Izrênna put out her bedding.

"I can take a watch tonight," Deorlin said.

"No," Izrênna said, "You should rest. You will need your strength for tomorrow, whatever the day may bring."

Izrênna sat, her hand by her bow, in case a foe should approach. She could hear that Deorlin, however, was still awake where he lay.

The night passed slowly, or so it seemed to the tiny woman...

[Deorlin]

Deorlin realized that Izrenna intended to stay awake all night. She had no trust in his ability to keep a watch, and he couldn't blame her. He had managed to sit up for a while and when she had changed the dressings on his wounds he had seen the extent of the havoc the wargs had wreaked. he willed himself to endure the pain, but he could do nothing to force the bleeding to stop on the deepest gash in his thigh. If he was to move in the morning, something needed to be done.

"Izrenna" he called out softly.

She looked up from where she sat, staring out into the darkness beyond the fire. She made no answer, but he could see that she knew he was about to propose something she wasn't going to like.

"Izrenna, whether we head west or south tomorrow, I can't ride for long if this gash in my leg continues to bleed. By noon I'd be dead."

She simply nodded her head in grim agreement.

"We must stop the bleeding somehow . . . we must cauterize the wound."

He caught the momentary shudder of revulsion that swept across her face, but again she merely nodded her agreement to the grisly task ahead. This woman was made of much sterner stuff than he would ever have guessed, Deorlin mused to himself. Regardless of her size, for now he was quite thankful that she had come on this hunt.

"Take my knife from my belt. I think the blade should be long enough. Stick it in the fire . . ."

"I know what to do." Izrenna said quietly, already at his side and reaching for the knife. She laid it on a stone, pushing it blade end into the hottest part of the flame it would reach. She then felt around and found a stout piece of kindling the width of a man's finger. "Here, you'll want this." She offered the stick to Deorlin, who let a puzzled look crease his features.

"To hold between your teeth." Izrenna explained.

"Oh, hmmm . . . yes." Deorlin muttered. "Thanks."

They waited with no further conversation ubtil the blade glowed in the heat. Izrenna bent forward and blew at the flames to increase the heat as much as possible. Finally, she turned to Deorlin and said, "I think that's the best we can get it. I hope it's enough. Are you ready?"

"Whenever you are, " he managed to get out through. He gripped the stick between his teeth and clenched his fists. Swiftly, She pulled the knife from the fire, the handle so hot it was burning into the flesh of her hand. But stoically she held it to his thigh, the flat reaching just from end to end of the ugly wound. Deorlin heard the sizzle of his own flesh and smelled the pungent odor, and then quickly passed out.

Izrenna turned her face away, but held steadliy to the knife until she could feel the heat finally give way to mere warmth. She lifted the blade clear of the wound nad placed it back in the fire to cleanse it. Not wanting to, but knowing she must, she examined the wound closely. The edges seemed to have sealed themselves, the exposed flesh now blackened with the cauterization. It looked very clean, and for now, there was no seeping or bleeding. Morning would tell better if the trick had really worked.

[VanimaEdhel]

Izrênna sat watching the unconscious man for the rest of the night. She had wrapped up the leg again, in case it should happen that their efforts were for naught. Izrênna tried to think what would be the best approach, were they to be trapped there due to Deorlin's injury. She decided that, were the wound to be serious, they should travel as far as they could in the direction of Edoras. They could take as many breaks to rest as they needed, as Anglachel had just told them that they needed to get out of this area.

Izrênna got up and silently crossed over to Deorlin and looked at where the wound had been. It appeared that cauterizing the wound had worked. Izrênna sighed quietly in relief, and was about to rise when she heard a whispered voice.

"How does it look?" Deorlin, asked. Izrênna gave a little gasp of surprise, for she did not know that he had come to in the time she had been thinking.

"You are awake," she said, suddenly feeling very stupid for making such an obvious comment, "Well," she said, trying to redeem herself, "I believe it worked. I hope you will be fine."

"Good," Deorlin muttered under his breath. He addressed her, then, "How is your hand?"

Izrênna looked in surprise at her hand. She had nearly forgotten the burns. They could not have been very serious injuries if she could not feel them. She crossed silently over to the fire and looked at her hand in the gentle light that flickered from the orange flames.

"The burns are very minor," she noted, looking at the burns, "They will most likely be fully healed by the morrow."

She crossed back over to where Deorlin lay. He had struggled and had managed to get himself up onto his elbows. She looked worriedly at his position, but he seemed to be in no immediate discomfort. Izrênna wondered if he was in any pain at the moment, but she knew he would not tell her truthfully, as there was nothing she could do to aid his suffering, even if he was in pain. Izrênna sat down next to Deorlin and stared into the fire again.

"Sleep," she heard the command, as Deorlin touched her arm. She turned and faced him, and saw that he had pulled himself up to a sitting position.

"No," she began to protest, but he cut her off.

"No, I can rest the entirety of tomorrow. I feel better. I tell you the truth. You must now rest. I will rouse you if anything approaches."

Izrênna reluctantly agreed to this new arrangement. She fetched her bow and arrows, in case they should be attacked, then lay next to where Deorlin sat. She knew she only had a few hours until the suns rays touched the land as it rose to fill the heavens with its light. Deorlin sat, looking off into the darkness around them.

Curiously secure, Izrênna dozed off quickly, having the first peaceful dreams she had experienced in a while...

[Bêthberry]

Kiara's post:


A feeling of unrest and brooding fury emanated from the fortress of rock where a dark figure stood, it's shadow stretching grim and long over the glowing walls of the tower....Though "glow" did not adequately describe the luminous quality of the stone. For, where the brilliance of moonlight once did well, now this tower, this fortress of death and despair radiated not those gentle beams, no. A corpse-light, it was. Not dark from the absence of light, but pale with a sickly gleem as the skin of someone recently past retains the signs that life once dwelled within. Like that self-same husk, discarded when the spirit flees the flesh for a better world, the spirit of Gondor had fled this fortress shell, and the glory and the brilliance that once shone in Minas Ithil was not warped to its demonic and sorcerous purpose. For this was Minas Morgul, Tower of Sorcery.

A once-white bridge yawned across the river which divided the lands of men from Mordor. Silent and creeping, the only sign of its existence was the heavy vapor that clung in the air about the legs of the bridge. Just as the vaporous shadow of the Witch-king clung about him as he stood on the marbled Morgul walls.

The Morgul-king made his presence known, now upon the battlements of his city, schreeching his message of doom to the land laid to waste about him. Even the flowers that still held tenaciously to the dark fields about leered with the sickly palor of the undead, a ghastly reminder of the Ringwraiths within. Day and night, for neither could be ascertained in this land of shadow, the Nazgûl screamed their fearsome reply to their lord, ever increasing in intensity as the Nameless Lord of their land urged them to action on his behalf. Their lusting increased with his, for long had they been subdued to his resistless, relentless will. In agonies of desire, therefore, they watched and waited for their time had almost come

...soon....soon....soon....doom. They had need of but nine simple things....

[VanimaEdhel]

Izrênna awoke to the gentle dancing of early morning light on her face. It was still almost completely dark, but a gentle finger of light was creeping over the horizon. Deorlin sat where she had left him, but he was gently shaking her awake. She rolled over and sat up quickly, pulling an arrow to her bow and preparing to aim. She committed this action out of habit, not out of necessity, and, after he gave her a startled look, she guiltily lowered the tip of her arrow.

"It is morning," Deorlin explained, "I thought you would want me to wake you. We should probably prepare to start out. They are a good ways ahead of us if we are to catch up. We can have a very quick breakfast, then ride after them. If we do not stop during the day, except when it is necessary for both my safety and that of the horse, we should gain sufficient ground on the others. We may arrive in time."

Izrênna sat up slowly and looked at Deorlin. He assumed they were going. She guessed that meant that he was feeling better...or that he was even more incredibly foolhardy than she had originally imagined. Izrênna hoped that it was the first. She realized that Deorlin was still looking at her and waiting.

Izrênna brought herself to a kneeling position and checked his wounds quietly. The leg wound was going to get better, Izrênna could see, much to her joy, and it would not cause too many problems on the road. The other wounds were already healing quite rapidly, much to her relief, as well.

"We can eat these," she said, fairly numbly, going over to her pack and tossing him some cram. "It is not a pleasure to eat, but you wanted a quick breakfast."

"No, no, this is good," Deorlin said.

The two ate in silence, then Izrênna packed up. She decided to leave all that was not completely necessary, as she wanted the load that the horse was carrying to be fairly light, thus hopefully making the horse more swift and agile.

Deorlin sat quietly while Izrênna packed up. After the horse was saddled and packed, Izrênna brought him over to where Deorlin was seated. She debated how to get the large man onto the horse. Finally, she crouched down, putting Deorlin's arm around her shoulders. He aided her in lifting him up, and used his arms, which were mostly unharmed, to help pull himself onto the horse. She pulled herself up behind him, and urged the horse forward in the direction that the company had taken.

The horse sprung forward, for Izrênna had found many things to leave behind, and moved even more quickly than he had when Izrênna was riding by herself. The horse and the riders moved quickly and quietly across the land, as the sun slowly rose in the heavens, creating more light on the brilliant day that was ahead...

[Garen LiLorian]

Gormel lay on the cold ground, immersed in thought. Why was he still alive? The wound in his shoulder pained him still, and it would be long before he could wield a shield in that hand, but his other remained strong, ready to wield blade. He was considerably stronger than he had let on, prefering to watch the action until he could be sure of his new place in the hierarchy. The newcomer looked to be the strongest, and ready to take control, but that youngling, Kane, seemed to have something up his sleeve. Rhana was the wildcard. Why had she warned him of Bhurthnin's death? Did she think he'd protect her if it hit the fan? Gormel snorted mentally. Fat chance. Although...

She could be useful, if she's decided to use me as well, he mused. Perhaps it is time to make my presence felt again. The thieves had been running swiftly towards the Anduin, yet the lack of a clear leader was causing problems. Already some of the thieves had split of from the group, heading for homes in whatever part of the country they happened to live in. Gormel made his decision, and sat up.

"Hoi! Kane! Rhana! You there! Get your flea-ridden carcasses over here." The newcomer looked considerably startled to hear from Gormel, but, after a deliberate pause, slowly made his way over to where Gormel sat. He munched indolently on a heel of bread. The other two exchanged looks before strolling over towards him. Gormel gritted his teeth. This insolence would not go unpunished, when he had his command back.

"I've been thinking." He ignored the look Kane gave him. "You there. You're my contact. Where are we taking these beasts? If it's that bloody tark city, we've taken a bad route. If it isn't, where the hell are you taking us?" He ignored Ulfeg's look of surprise, and continued "Kane, you've done a decent job managing this lot, so I'm gonna let you take care of buisness 'till we strike the city." There. That oughta swell the boy's head. Long as he's pleased, I'm alive. "You. Contact. You've got a letter for me. Hand it over, and then get the hell outta here. Keep out of trouble, and keep up." Ulfeg stood up, smoldering, but handed the letter to Gormel and stalked away, stiff-legged as a tomcat. "Well, Kane, what the hell are you staring at? Get these idiots on the move! You wanna be sitting here when the horsemen find us?" Kane opened and shut his mouth a few times before moving, and when he did, he looked utterly nonplussed.

"Rhana. Siddown." The horsewoman stared at him, and kept her distance. "Dammit, sit" he snarled, and her eyes flashed before obeying. He collected himself. Wouldn't do to alienate her. "I've been thinking," he said, in a much softer growl, "who can I trust? Bhurthnin's dead. Kane pro'bly slit his throat in the night, and that blasted newcomer-" "Ulfeg" "Ulfeg. Right. That blasted Ulfeg'd as soon gut me as look at me. That leaves you. Now. You're a smart woman, and you know that you'll never command yourself. You know also that Kane's too brash to listen for long, and Ulfeg's an unknown. That leaves me. We need each other, Rhana. That spasting dog made sure I won't be fighting anytime soon, and you won't be leading by yourself. So." And he held out his good hand. "Whaddya say, Rhana. Ever wanted to lead a band of horse-thieves?" He tried to smile winningly. Come on, you pushdug, come on...

[Gryphon Hall]

[Gryphon Hall's Post]
The setting sun cast long shadows before them, yet they still trudged on. The sky before them was darkling, which did not do one bit of good to the already low spirits of Corrin. He sat dejectedly on the back of Léod, silent all throughout the ride. He would not speak, why should he! They left her, and he had been obliged to leave her. His honor and word obliged him.

But they left her! With only a wounded man to protect her. For what? 'Horses!' he thought furiously. 'Horses! The all important horses! We left a defenseless girl alone to get back horses, which may already be dead.'

He looked sadly at the others, then at Béowulf. I hope he is right. I hope the lad is right. How did it come to this? His thoughts turned unwillingly to a conversation that happened only hours before. . .

[Estel's Post]

We shouldn't have left her, thought Corrin, but it cannot be helped. I swore to hunt the thieves, so my oath binds me. The dwarf cannot help but feel angry: at himself and, strangely, at his fellows. Angry that they could not rest, angry that they could not catch up quickly, angry that they were no longer sure these thieves could be caught. But he was mostly angry at Léod, that arrogant son of a mare who is too proud to carry a-- no, not at the horse. His wrath lay elsewhere.

'Thinking that we should have stayed behind with Izrênna?' asked Béowulf.

'So what if I am!?' retorted Corrin but hastily added, 'Sorry, lad, I've been on edge since we crossed the Mering.'

'Everyone has been on edge, Corrin,' answered Béowulf, 'I feel the same way as you do.'

Ælfritha called out, 'Their tracks lead towards the Anduin. Everybody, mount!'

They all rode again in silence.

Some time has passed when Béowulf whispered to Corrin behind him, 'I do not understand, Corrin. Where do these cursed thieves come from? My éored espied Easterlings at East Emnet and these thieves are also probably Easterling. But how in the name of Helm did they get over the Anduin? It makes no sense at all!'

[Gryphon Hall's Post]
'Yes, it doesn't make any sense, does it. None of these make any sense! My heart is heavy, lad. Curse those thieves! May their losses be as grievious as ours, more! by the end of this cold and wretched endeavor.' Corrin was thinking what he would just do with some thief neck. Oh, yes! He knew exactly what to do.

Léod shifted uneasily. Béowulf looked uneasily back. 'Master Dwarf. . . Sir, please calm yourself. It doesn't do to be perturbed this way, especially if we expect battle soon.'

Corrin looked up at the rider, a retort ready, but stopped. 'Aye, if nothing else makes sense, you do lad. We are just too few. . . Why are we too few, Béowulf? Why? There could have been someone to stay with the poor lass. . . someone. . .'

'Worry not, friend,' said Béowulf. 'I don't think Izrênna and Deorlin will come to any more grief. I said worry not, sir! I forbode that doom follows the horses stolen, so it is we, the thieves and pursuers that will have the chief danger. You are needed here. We are needed here. And they both are needed here, but they fell but are not dead. Be thankful that she rests now far from where we will perhaps meet our deaths. Think no more of her!'

'How could I not?' thought Corrin. 'Father and I were wrong about poor Mother when we left her.' He squeezed his eyes shut, sadness threatening to overwhelm him.

Ælfritha gave a shout, signalling that they must go at a gallop now, one of many that must be made at intervals. They must close the gap before the river is reached, and all trace of the pursued is lost.

[Estel's Post]

The setting sun cast long shadows before them, yet they still trudged on. The sky before them was darkling, all the land was grey and still, particularly in the lowlands beside the Anduin, where cool mist covered much of the great river.

The pursuers were getting tense: once they were silent, but now each began to talk to their fellows in an effort to release the tension. Ælfritha spoke quietly with Maikadurion while Corrin and Béowulf whispered. Malienna and Anglachel remained silent.

Béowulf himself was worried sick about Izrênna and Deorlin. He remembered earlier failure to prevent Hading's death. Deorlin at least was alive. Béowulf dare not let Corrin know that he too was wishing to have remained with the stricken Rider and the maid. Honor constrained them both.

Riding just behind Ælfritha and Maikadurion, Béowulf could not help but overhear snatches of their conversation, softly though they spoke.

'No son of Théomer the Traitor will walk freely in that country until the true King returns. . .'

[ January 31, 2003: Message edited by: Gryphon Hall ]

[Airerûthiel]

Maikadurion's irrepressible cheeriness seemed to have left him for once. He sat alone, wrapped in his cloak, staring out into the darkness...and thinking. It was at times like these that he missed his brother immensely, even though they had mutually parted ways. Laitalathion had always been content to remain in comfort and places of security, and in these times that roughly constituted that the further west you were was a guide to your safety.

Maikadurion, on the other hand, was a thrill-seeker. Adventure seemed to find him rather than the other way around. It had been his decision to leave his uncle's house and seek his ancestors, his choice to go back to Gondor...his choice to remain in Rohan, where alliances sifted like the tides of the sea and the proud yet isolated people loved their horses more than life itself.

Ælfritha had noticed how quiet he was, and suspected that there was something wrong. "What's the matter?" she asked, not unkindly, and received no reply. "Maikadurion, you've helped us considerably on this quest, and now it's our turn to help you. You don't seem to want to continue, I feel. The opportunity to return to Edoras is still freely available."

The young half-Elf turned around and shook his head. "My thanks to you for your gracious offer, Ælfritha, but I must decline. When I joined you on this quest I swore to myself that I would remain part of it until my task was filled or I fell at the hand of evil, whichever fate I met with first. I fear to go into the land of Gondor, for its ways are barred to outsiders in these times of trouble, and I am most certainly not welcome in that land. No son of Théomer the Traitor -" his eyes narrowed and his voice hardened as he spoke, "- will walk freely in that country until the true King returns.

"My father was not an outright traitor - he was not in league with the evil ones who rise in the East. But he was outspoken and aired his views with no concern for what any other thought of them - regardless of whether he was talking to his family or the Steward of Gondor. He did not believe in the Steward's laws, despite being lucky enough to become a Ranger of the borderland, and would often say - with or without the aid of drink to loosen his tongue - that he would follow none except the one who could prove himself to be the true King of Gondor. It was lucky the wargs killed him, for the rumour was that he would have been killed for his views shortly afterwards.

"If I walk into Gondor, I will be slain as soon as any guard catches sight of me. But if I do not, I will lose everything - my mother's horse, my brother, and the honour that rightly belongs to my family and my name."

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Ive been thinking...." Gormel started. Kane grinned openly, knowing how insolent it was. Gormel ignored him though and started talking softly to Rhana. Long practise in card games had given kane exellent hearing, so he heard snippets of Gormels low voice.

"who can I trust?...Kane pro'bly slit my throat in the night,

Well youre right there at any rate Gormel...Kane smiled to himself. Gormel continued.

"and that blasted newcomer-"
"Ulfeg"
"Ulfeg. Right. That blasted Ulfeg'd as soon gut me as look at me. That leaves you. Now. You're a smart woman, and you know that you'll never command yourself. You know also that Kane's too brash to listen for long, and Ulfeg's an unknown. That leaves me. We need each other, Rhana. That spasting dog made sure I won't be fighting anytime soon, and you won't be leading by yourself. So-Whaddya say, Rhana. Ever wanted to lead a band of horse-thieves?"

Rhana hesitated, thinking, and that moment was enough. Walking back ans squatting down in front of Gormel, Kane then hit him across the face, not hard, but hard enough to send the weak man reeling. The younger man laughed in his face.

"Ah, what a strong leader you make and have made in the last few days Gormel!" He lowered is voice. "What makes you think that you can give orders like this anymore? What makes you think that you can propose such offers to anyone anymore? How much power do you think you hold?" He was practically hissing into Gormels face now. The older man pushed him away with his good hand, but not with much strength.

"Bhurthnin!" He yelled. Kane and Rhana now exchanged a look and smiled. Once again Gormel tried to call for his henchman, going red in the face. Then Kane snapped his fingers and clicked his tongue lightly, as if just remembering something. "Oh Bhurthnin. Ah yes, of course, your muscle. Sorry Gormel, but the brute wont be coming."

"Yes, he might be finding it a little hard to get here." Rhana added. "It tends to be, when your bloods congealing where you lie."

Gormel stared at them for a moment before Kane punched him across the face, harder this time, sending his head spinning backwards. But Gormel reacted quicker this time, kicking Kanes ankles from where he lay, knocking the younger easterlings legs from under him. Kane went down, but was in a crouched fighting stance with a knife in his hand in a flash.

"Alright Gormel. If thats how you want it." He said softly, a slight, feral grin on his features.

[Maikadilwen]

Rhana took a few steps back, watching the two men carefully.
Suddenly she noticed the glint of a knife in Gormel's hand and she gasped from surprise. She thought they had removed all his weapons, but it appeared they had missed one.
Her own survival mattered most and she knew, that if Kane was killed now, she would probably be next, so she had to do something.
Think, Rhana, think! Think!
With a swift movement she drew her knife as she stepped forward and she grabbed Kane from behind, pressing her blade against his throat. "STOP! Both of you!"

She held her breath for a moment until she saw Gormel lower his knife and a quiet sigh of relief escaped her, not loud enough for Gormel to hear it, but Kane did and he relaxed a little, suddenly beginning to understand what it was she was trying to do.
"I believe Gormel ordered you to make sure everyone is ready to go, Kane. I can't see you doing that. Now drop the knife!" Her voice was harsh as she pressed the blade harder against his throat, causing a small streak of blood to run down his skin.
Turning her head so Gormel couldn't see her mouth, she whispered quietly to Kane. "At least let him believe I'm on his side!"
Kane slowly let his knife drop to the ground and Rhana released her grip and stood for a moment looking after him as he trotted back to the fire and began to break up camp.

"That boy is nothing but trouble."

The sound of Gormel's voice almost made her jump and she turned her head, staring at him, trying to calm herself. She had to play this part right if she wanted to survive this trip.
"How's the shoulder? Can you use your arm?"
Gormel nodded and Rhana helped him up to stand and made a quick examination of the wound. It seemed to be healing fine and it would be far to soon that he would be back as the rough leader. Hopefully she would be far away by then.

[ January 24, 2003: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Bêthberry]

All the land was grey and still, particularly in the lowlands beside the Anduin, where cool mist covered much of the great river. The tracks of the horse thieves had moved towards the River and so the pursuers edged the River also.

Ælfritha rode next to Malienna and Maikadurion, in single file, followed by Currin, Béowulf, and Anglachel in the rear. Would they evade detection more easily this way? Who could tell? It was already quite beyond comprehension that the horse thieves could have preceeded them and not been stopped. Yet this had been the very case.

Ælfritha spoke quietly with Maikadurion. "Thrill-seeker, you have met your match here, for we can tell neither rhyme nor reason with these thieves. I would almost have been tempted to search for scouts of Gondor to tell them our tale."

"I would not have stopped you, but merely left you had you made that determination," spoke the young elf, "for I would have brought dishonour to your need."

"Never mind," said Ælfritha. "It is perhaps better this way, that we do not announce our presence." Yet she was perplexed. She could understand the desire to avoid the highway, the Great West Road, but were there really types in the White City who would steal horses of Rohan? Thinking about this possibility, she became lost in thought and the group rode on for several miles. She had never, ever, been this far south, this close to the White city, and she was tempted to loose herself in the old stories of the River. She was almost thankful for the wide plain below Cair Andros because her sight was better. Across the Great River all she could see was forest, brought even to the very edge of the River itself.

Movement up ahead caught her eye and she called out to Malienna and Maikadurion.

"What do you make out there, up ahead? I see shadows moving. And a barge upon the water. Come, ride!" she called out, as she feared her horses would be taken beyond her reach.

[ January 26, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Garen LiLorian]

The boy's first slap had been a surprise. Gormel sincerely thought he'd done a good job of bribing the lad, and he hadn't even noticed Kane returning to the circle until the boy was right in front of him. Then the slap. Gormel's blood boiled at that, and he thought about how close he had come to giving the game away. He was pretty sure he could deal with the young upstart, and in any case, the spearpoint he kept concealed at all times would have come as a nasty surprise, but he knew full well he couldn't fight Kane and Rhana together.

But Rhana hadn't chosen to side with Kane, and Gormel couldn't for the life of him understand it. He was weak and seemingly defenceless, they were strong and well armed. In her position, he would have waited for Kane to kill him, then killed Kane while he was celebrating. Pah. Women are weak, he thought for perhaps the thousandth time.

Perhaps she was blinded by his generous offer. Maybe she had some connection to Kane, and didn't want him hurt. Gormel turned that thought over in his mind. He liked the idea that she was protecting him. It both flattered his ego and provided a handle on her, if it became neccessary. Gormel considered love, like all of the other kindly emotions, something to be taken advantage of in others. Perhaps, if Fate was smiling, he could even use her as a handle on Kane. He smiled evily. Yes. Things were indeed looking up.

On the downside, however, he'd lost his cover. Rhana and Kane both knew now he was not as weak as he had pretended to be, and now there was only one course of action left to him. He had to take control, utter power, back into his fist quickly. Once the rest of the band was behind him, Kane would follow. The question was; what to do about Rhana? She was staring after the boy, in a manner which Gormel considered extremely heartening. Grasping the nettle, he said out loud, "That boy is nothing but trouble." He noted the flash of resentment that crossed her features, quickly muffled, but couldn't decide if it was for impugning the boy or simply resentment at Gormel himself in general. He liked to believe the former.

"How's the shoulder? Can you use your arm?" She asked him, after a moment. Gormel thought quickly, then nodded. Not well, he didn't add. Her practised fingers searched his wound quickly and seemed satisfied at what they had found.

"Have you thought about my little proposal?" He asked quietly. This was important. Whether she was to be tenous ally or an obstacle to be removed.

[ January 24, 2003: Message edited by: Garen LiLorian ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Deorlin and Izrênna pressed on as quickly as they could. They only paused when either Deorlin or the horse needed care. Both could see, by the nearly untraceable signs left by the company, that they were gaining ground on the group, for the signs were getting fresher as they pressed on. Izrênna's spirits rose as they continued to close the distance between them and their friends.

They made their way over the Snowbourne, galloping quickly and quietly along, trying to take as straight a path as they could, while still keeping signs of their company's passage within sight.

Soon, the two found themselves approaching the Entwash. Izrênna slowed a bit, trying to reclaim her bearings.

"Which way did they go?" she muttered to herself, trying to catch a glimpse of their tracks. It seemed as though another group had passed through and gone in the opposite direction as the company, whichever way they had gone.

"Stay here," Izrênna muttered, dismounting and leaving Deorlin on the horse.

"Where do you think I will run off to?" Deorlin said quietly from where he sat.

Izrênna blushed and crouched down on the ground, trying to see. She could not tell which way the others had gone. She stood up, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of her face and looking around.

"Which way could they have gone?" Izrênna asked, mentally wishing she could invoke the Universe for an actual answer.

"They turned in that direction," Deorlin said from up on the horse.

"How do you know?" Izrênna asked doubtfully. The tracks looked the same to her.

"Count the different number of horses that went in each direction. More horses passed that way," Deorlin said.

Izrênna looked down and almost laughed, "You are right! I suppose I should learn to track. It seems that it does come to be useful in time."

She swung up behind Deorlin and they continued on. She was happy that Deorlin knew more about the wilderness than she did. Izrênna was only used to following the straightest path between two points to deliver a message. She always knew the exact route she would follow. This tracking was a new experience for her.

They galloped along the Entwash, hoping to reach the River Anduin in the near future. As they moved, Izrênna could see that they were on the right path by little signs. She felt merrier again, and her anxiety lifted from her once more.

They soon had to stop, for both the horse and Deorlin needed a rest. They stopped for a short while and Izrênna scouted out the area a bit, her bow always in hand, as Anglachel had commanded her. If they were not to follow the path he had chosen for them, she would at least follow his orders for preparation.

[Deorlin]

Deorlin eased himself to the ground, barely supressing a groan. He had waited to dismount until Izrenna had gone a few paces away, scouting around for more signs of their fellow pursuers, knowing that he would more probably fall off her horse than be able to manage to get his feet under him. As it was, he did manage, using every ounce of strength he had, to keep from pitching over its neck.

Now he lay flat, trying to control his breathing, which was heavy and labored. He didn't even have to look under the bandages on his thigh to know the wound there had reopened. He could feel the moisture against his skin, blood and serum seeping from the gash. Well, the cauterization was a hope, nothing more. And now hope was gone, at least the hope that this wound would heal up properly.

He had seen enough of wounds to know this one was going to be nothing but trouble. He wondered if Izrenna had ever seen, or smelt, rotting flesh, the wounds that went gangrenous? And how she would react if it came to cutting the leg off? Though it would not come to that, because there was no point - even under the best of circumstances an amputation was simply a last ditch effort to save a life, which usually failed. And here, in the middle of nowhere, with no-one to help her . . . No, he would not ask her to do that.

There was only one option - to keep travelling. Ultimately, he probably would pass out and fall off. Then she would stop and keep vigil while he bled to death. Then she would be free - to either try to find the others, or turn back to Edoras. Or they might just be able to catch up, but there were still many long weary hours of riding in order to do that.

Izrenna returned to his side, glancing anxiously at his pallid face and sweating brow.

"How goes it?" she asked quietly. "Here, let me check the wound."

"No, stay." He reached out and grabbed her hand as she bent forward. "I've already looked. It's well on the mend."

The frown on her face creased her forehead. "You don't look well. We should rest here a while. Perhaps we should go ahead and make camp for the night?" Deorlin heard the slight disappointment mingled with concern in her voice.

"No, no. There's still several hours of light left. We should make the best use we can of them." Deorlin forced a smile onto his lips. "I am a bit tired, I'll admit. You're hard to keep up with!" His smile became genuine as he considered with what disdain he had first thought of this tiny woman. But here she had proved herself to have a core as hard as steel.

"Let me lay here a few more minutes, and then we'll be off again." He lay back and closed his eyes, praying that she would make no protest. If she insisted that they stay, he was afraid he would not have the will to oppose her. If any chance still existed that he might yet find and rescue Frey, he preferred to die in that attempt than here in the middle of nowhere.

[VanimaEdhel]

Izrênna sat watching Deorlin on the ground. He was not well, she could see that, but she also knew that there was no way to force him to obey her. Although he was kind to her, he still did not have respect for her, at least not enough to speak to her truthfully of his pain. She looked at the bandage on his leg and hoped that the wound had not reopened. It would be pure idiocy based on pride if he did not let her know if it had. She sighed and patted the grey horse.

"What are we to do if we cannot make it?" she muttered into the horse's ear, "And what if Deorlin cannot go on? Should I turn back with him or push on without him?"

The horse merely turned her head and nuzzled Izrênna. Izrênna smiled and patted the horse, waiting for Deorlin to be ready.

When Deorlin was ready, Izrênna hefted him up onto the horse. She could tell that his leg was hurting him. She swung up behind them and the moved along for a bit more time.

When darkness fell, they made camp. Deorlin lay down, obviously in pain, while Izrênna bustled around, starting a fire and making dinner.

[Estel the Descender]

Estel’s Post:

'What do you make out there, up ahead? I see shadows moving. And a barge upon the water.' Ælfritha called out to Malienna and Maikadurion, as she feared her horses would be taken beyond her reach, 'Come, ride!'

But even as Béowulf, Corrin and Léod heard Ælfritha's cry, Anglachel also called out, 'Look! Horsemen to our rear!'

Horsemen? thought Béowulf, By Helm, wolf-riders! They have come from the Entwash!

'Ælfritha!' called Béowulf, I will face these orcs!'
Then he turned to Corrin and said, 'You will have to get off, Master Corrin. Go with Ælfritha and fulfil your oath!'

Corrin answered firmly, 'Nothin' doin', horse-master! You face them with me!'

'Look, friend', said Béowulf, 'There is an entire troop of mounted orcs and a dwarf who, well. . .'

'Who cannot keep his seat?' finished Corrin, 'Then should I fall off I shall fight them on the ground and keep them busy enough so that you can do whatever you have to do. Wait! let me finish! I know that you are trying to get me angry enough so that I would not stay with you anymore, but it won't work! You cannot get rid of me that easily! Just a sec, I’m not done yet! I will not leave a comrade again, like I did Izrênna and Deorlin! Please do not interrupt me! I am going to fight beside you, you hear! I happen to be a veteran of--'

'Alright, ALRIGHT!' interrupted Béowulf, 'You are with me! Hold on to my belt so that you can get a firm seat and use your weapon.'

Béowulf added, 'You really talk too much, Master Corrin!'

'Yeah, yeah, yeah,' said Corrin, 'Are we just standing here or are we going to fight?'

Béowulf urged Léod forward with a cry and they charged, Béowulf holding his spear above his head as if to hurl it while Corrin held his axe poised to strike. In the meantime, Ælfritha called out to the others to follow her, saying, 'Come! Béowulf has given us time! Quick, before the thieves escape!'

Man, dwarf and horse charged straight into the enemy formation. 'Cwelan!' cried Béowulf as he hurled his spear. The spear struck the eye of the lead wolf-rider who fell off its mount. Quickly shifting his shield to his right hand, the man drew his sword from his left side with his left hand. With the sword he slashed the throat of the wolf whose rider was slain by the spear. As other wolf-riders closed in, Béowulf would either strike them, both rider and wolf, or parry the blows aimed at him.

Beneath Béowulf's shield Corrin swung his axe with his right hand as he gripped Béowulf's belt with his left. Corrin cried
, 'Strike their mounts! they cannot fight without their wolves! And wolf necks are a closer target! And even as he cried, his axe swung down upon a wolf's neck, causing it to stumble along with its rider. Béowulf followed suit and began striking at the wolves first before the orcish riders.

Léod would kick anyone or anything that came up behind them and trample on those that would come before them. Any rider who has lost its wolf to either the sword of Béowulf or the axe of Corrin was rendered helpless to the hooves of the mearh. Sometimes Léod would push forward, sometimes he would walk backwards, trampling upon the fallen orcs. Sometimes the mearh would quickly wheel away from a cut or thrust meant either for him or his own riders. Then, biting here and there, Léod would suddenly crash headlong into a wolf, knocking it off-balance, and either Corrin or Béowulf would finish it off, both crying their battlecries.

For gúðhréð! Forþ tó beadu! Hading! Tó beadu!

Khazâd ai-mênu! Baruk Khazâd ai-mênu! Izrênna!

Thus, despite the fury of the orcish attack man, dwarf and horse were for the present unharmed.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0 ~0~0~0~0

The charge slowed down the wolf-riders but did not stop them. Several of them went after Ælfritha's group. Seeing them come, Maikadurion wheeled his horse back and drew his sword. Charging the borrowed horse, he would cut all who would come close enough to him. The wolf-riders halted their advance and quickly surrounded the half-elf.

Big mistake.

Maikadurion in an instant leapt from his horse onto the nearest wolf while slashing its rider. With his next stroke, he killed the wolf even as it tried to bite him.

Leaping once again, he began to systematically cut the throats of every wolf and rider he encountered. Swerving clear of the riders' blades and spears, Maikadurion proceeded to incapacitate the other wolves. Soon, all orcs have lost their mounts.

Twenty orcs and almost double that number of wolves lost their lives to Maikadurion's blade.

Demoralised, the remaining orcs surrounded the half-elf once again, this time hesitantly. Thirteen goblins attacked, screaming their harsh battlecries.

All thirteen orcs were dead in thirty seconds.

Remounting the borrowed horse, Maikadurion rode swiftly to rejoin Ælfritha's group.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0 ~0~0~0~0

Inspite of the skill, fury and cooperation of man, dwarf and horse, the greater numbers of the Orcs soon had the upper hand and Léod was obliged to retreat towards the Anduin, some distance north of where the barge was first sighted.


Gryphon Hall’s Post:

Though they were making the orcs pay for every inch of ground they took, they were getting wounded. Blades kept coming from every direction, seeking to maim and kill, but for the skill of the man, horse and dwarf they would have. However, even Corrin, suited in armor began feeling the bite of black steel.

Léod was moving sideways, facing south, so that their relatively protected right side was exposed. There was a great many of them but they cannot get near for fear of Béowulf. But one orc, dismounted now that his warg was dead, tried to go for Léod’s rump, his curved blade raised high. They were now just ten yards away from the river, when Corrin saw the orc come. He let go of Béowulf’s belt, took his throwing axe and as he fell backward hurled it at the attacker. Corrin never saw the axe bury itself between the eyes of the orc; now he had to hold his ground as horse and rider was still driven back. Shifting his heavy two-handed axe to his left hand, he threw his last throwing axe with his injured right arm at the throng, then drew his broad-bladed sword. Then, following Béowulf, he fought.

Béowulf had, by now, shifted his shield to the left and his sword to the right. His sword swung many times, cleaving many a goblin neck, but still on they came. Corrin did his best to stay as far away from the kicking legs of Léod without getting himself isolated away from the horse. ‘I am a veteran of the Battle of the Five Armies! I survived! I triumphed!’ cried Corrin, unheard above the din of the orcs pressing around. ‘I will not die today!’

They were by the water’s edge by now, trying very hard not to be flanked, but it was becoming difficult: there was just too much dead, and the orcs climbed over their comrades to attack them. There was no bank, but something like a small cliff with water lapping at edge. This, of course, helped them from being encircled from behind, but they were in danger of slipping in themselves. Corrin had been using his own body to shield Béowulf and Léod from the more dangerous strikes; strong though the armor of the dwarves are, Corrin, too, was getting injured. And a lot of the blades still hit Léod or Béowulf, all of them getting bloodied.

Corrin then had the irresistable urge to break free, and madness seemed to overcome him as he made a desperate rush to where the orcs (living and dead) seemed to be thickest.

For a while, he actually seemed to open a gap for them to go through. Then the press of orcs on him became to great, and he stumbled. As the orcs started to strip him of his armor, he heard the horrible scream of the horse as a blade struck. Corrin, struggled up, his hauberk and helm gone now and stabbed and cut several more orcs.

‘GHAAAAAAARRRRGGHHHH!!!’ Corrin screamed as he turned and charged the group of orcs being held at bay by the sword of Béowulf. Corrin’s own sword stuck and broke on one of the orcs as he took them all with him down into the waters of the Anduin. With his remaining weapon, his father’s two-handed axe, he continued to hew and hack at his enemies, but his eyes strove for the water’s edge, hoping to see Béowulf and Léod escape.

But the water bore him away swiftly, and he saw no more.

Estel’s Post:

Seeing their friend fall, Béowulf and Léod fought with renewed fury.

But in vain.

Without the dwarf to protect them, both rider and horse were being wounded liberally. Béowulf made one mighty stroke with his sword and the weapon cleaved through the helm of one orc. Yet the sword broke at the hilt and Béowulf, seeing his father’s sword destroyed, cried in grief and anger. He threw the useless hilt at the horde.

Another goblin, armed with a mace, swung upward at Béowulf. The rider, seeing the peril, attempted to block the club. But the force of the blow broke Béowulf’s arm and the mace-head caught his chin.

Béowulf swayed on his saddle for an instant then fell off into the freezing water. Léod kicked the goblin with the mace and then leaped into the water to his master and friend.


Gryphon Hall’s Post:

Corrin had killed his last orc, but he was still floating swiftly down the Anduin. He was struggling to keep his head above water, but would not let go of the heavy axe, the only thing left to him. ‘No, I shall die before I lose this,’ thought Corrin. ‘This last of all. . .’ His right arm was broken and useless, but with his left he grasped the axe, and saw an outcrop of rock on the west side of the river. Beside it was a small bank. With a heave, he drove the axe into it and stopped his progress down the river. ‘I knew I wouldn’t die. But the poor lad and beast, I left them! Woe is me! I have never left a comrade, nor a friend,’ wailed Corrin. He was weeping openly now. ‘And I have just left two to the mercy of those orcs.’

How long he hung there, being buffeted by the waters, he didn’t know. He felt weak, cold and despondent, he hung there, unwilling for now to pull himself to the safety of the bank. Then he saw a struggling speck upstream, making splashes as it was borne down. It was Léod! But were was Bé- NO! Béowulf was on Léod, but was slumped on the saddle, seemingly dead. ‘No, lad! NO! Not like this!’ He could see Léod’s struggling getting weaker, as his wounds sapped his life’s blood down the waters. Béowulf, too, had wounds. But there was no time to waste! Gathering his last ounce of strength, he shoved his broken arm through the leather loop at the end of his axe and in one smooth motion turned around in a way that momentarily hid the horse as it passed by, but grabbed the harness at the last possible moment. The broken arm stretched and felt like tearing, but Corrin held on. ‘I am a veteran, a brave veteran, a stout dwarf,’ thought Corrin in his mind, then yelled, ‘OF THE LONELY MOUNTAIN!’

But the horse was too heavy and he felt the reins slipping. Then he heard a sickening crack and a wash of pain went over him. He forgot everything then, not seeing his left hand let go, not feeling the broken arm slip limply out of the axe's leather loop. Water closed over his face. Sigh, Corrin thought sadly, If it ends this way, it ends this way. If I had saved the lad and the bothersome beast, it would have counted for something. I guess it's better this way: Dáie would have been ashamed. I wish Bethberry gives the gear I left at the White Horse to Darrin. I wish I could have seen Dáie one more time. I wish-’

Estel’s Post:

A splash, then nothingness.

[ February 06, 2003: Message edited by: Estel the Descender ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Izrênna and Deorlin set off early the next morning. Deorlin tried his best to hide his injury. He wanted to catch up to the others. Sadly, however, his wound, he could feel, was worsening as they moved on. Somewhat luckily, his leg had gone numb, so he did not feel the pain of the rotting skin. He sighed as the galloped on, nearly oblivious to the scenery around them as they moved.

Izrênna urged the horse along, hoping that they would reach the river before long. It was still a good ways ahead of them, but it was probably within twenty-four hours of riding if they kept up this good pace.

She heard Deorlin let out a small grunt as the horse took a sharp turn. Izrênna's worries again returned to Deorlin's leg. Although he did not speak of his injury to her, she could tell that it was worsening again. She could feel it in the way he lifted himself, she could see it in the way he walked gingerly, and she was even beginning to smell something that was obviously the wound.

Izrênna pulled up fairly abruptly, planning on resting for a time. She felt Deorlin give a start. She aided him to a place for him to recline. Izrênna backed off a bit and tried to contemplate how to phrase her questioning of Deorlin's wellness. Finally, she came to a decision.

"Deorlin," she said, "I refuse to press on at all until you allow me to see your wound. I shall remain here with you until you let me near to you and that leg that you are obviously favoring."

She marched herself over to where Deorlin sat and ripped the bandage off. Izrênna jumped back, staring in awe at the gaping, festering wound. Deorlin gave a groan as the bandage tore at the sticky wound. Izrênna grew furious at what she saw.

"Why did you not tell me?" she demanded, "We may have been able to aid the injury in recovery again! This is now past my abilities. We cannot go on! This is your fault. Why do you insist on acting like you are well when you are obviously not!"

Seeing that Deorlin was in no position to really disagree greatly, Izrênna continued, "I could have at least tried to save the leg! I do not know if we can even do that now! Why did you feel you had the right to keep such an injury from my knowledge? This relationship was to be about trust and, not that you have broken it, you have stranded both of us here, probably to die! If you had made me aware of this injury even a day ago, I may have been able to aid you. Now...now I do not know."

Izrênna stopped herself, as she could tell that she had already nearly gone too far in her scolding of Deorlin. He sat, looking guilty at their situation but also looking scornfully at Izrênna. Izrênna paused for a second, guilt now welling up in her soul as well.

"I apologize," she said, quietly, "This is not the time for casting blame. I should have confronted you on this earlier, anyway."

Blushing, Izrênna slowly approached Deorlin who did not, surprisingly, lash out at her for her disrespect in any way. She knelt down by the infected wound and looked at it.

"Does it hurt you?" Izrênna asked. She was greeted by a nod, indicating "no". "Then it is numb?" she asked worriedly. This time, there was a nod of "yes".

Izrênna took some of their precious water and put it on a cloth. She went back to Deorlin and his wound. Even though it would probably be useless, Izrênna thought she should at least try to clean the wound and get some of the bacteria out of it.

Deorlin sat quietly as she scrubbed the injury for a time. Finally, Izrênna sat back. Although the wound was, by no means, better, Deorlin may be able to keep the leg.

"Did it help? Or is it useless?" Deorlin asked, finally speaking.

"We shall see," Izrênna said. She quickly ripped a wide of cloth from the hem of her dress and wrapped the wound tightly. She tied the ends and sat back to look at her work.

Suddenly, Deorlin let out a small groan.

"Are you regaining feeling in that leg?" Izrênna guessed, being met with a nod, "That is good," she surmised, "Having feeling should be good. Tell me if it goes numb again and I shall clean it again."

Izrênna looked at the sun, noting that there would be a few more hours of daylight. They could probably press on gently.

"We shall ride," she decided, "Let me aid you."

She helped the aching Deorlin up to the horse and she boosted him up onto the horse and mounted behind him. The two started off again, this time at a slower pace, for Deorlin's sake...