[Lugbúrz]

Gathering the remaining horses, the company of thieves made its way slowly but surely on foot through the very last few leagues to the Great River. They were fraught with danger all around them, and the altercations did not bate the peril, seen or unseen.

The only travelling conspirator who was noting the squabbling with growing glee was Ulfeg. The old Easterling was aware of their whereabouts and was plotting his split. His acute senses had yet a while before they dissembled into infirmity, and with such skill as he still possessed, he espied their purlieu in silence. Far in the distance he could see a faint light, and still further the faint gleam of water. The rest of the group heard the river too, they took each step with wariness.

"And we are to meet someone here?" growled Gormel, who had been informed that Ulfeg was leading them to the mastermind of this foolish mission. Gormel could not understand the need for a middleman, and distrusted Ulfeg thoroughly, but having no choice with the returning pain, he followed in anger.

"Yes, if we are not killed by the watch of Minas Tirith before that," hissed Ulfeg.

A few more paces and the light became visible to all, and behind that the silhouette of a barge against the bank. They approached quietly until they were addressed.

"Halt! Who goes there?" came a refined voice.

"It is me, Ulfeg, and I bring with me the company of thieves, my lord," replied Ulfeg.

"So the quest was successful?" asked the voice.

'It soon will,' thought Ulfeg, but replied, "Yes, the horses are yet nine in number as you wished."

"Good, get the horses onto the barge, and quietly," the voice commanded. None could see the face of the tall, frail man who spoke.

"Now wait a minute!" shouted Gormel, "those are my horses, and they are not going anywhere until I say so."

"Quiet, you fool! It has taken the lives of many people greater than you to arrange this passage. You will do as I say or you will die," said the voice in an icy tone.

Gormel flew into a rage when he heard these words, and in his wrath he pulled out his sword in a flash and cried out, "you shall die yourself before these horses go onto the boat, and your tongue will be the first to bleed!"

He moved forward in a frenzy of spite and wielded his weapon in a menacing angle, while the other stood calmly much to his disconcert. For an instant Gormel considered stopping, something had told him that this was folly, but his ego was now to be placated. He stood in front of the man and pointed his blade at the shrouded face.

"Are you scared?" he cried.

"Of a wounded Easterling?" came the retort, and many faces flinched among the company of thieves. Some shouted their support for Gormel, and this only heightened his madness.

"Die, you filthy cur!" he roared as he brought his sword down.

Before the thieves could say watch out, the veiled man had pulled out his sowrd in a swift and smooth motion, after which he turned around and striked out to complete the single graceful move.

Gormel's beheaded body collapsed to the ground even as his bloody head rolled down into the river, and after bobbing a while on the surface, it plunged into nothingness.

The thieves watched in amazement at the sword of Gondor, and realized that there was no match for it among them. Without another word they began to load the horses and themselves into the barge.

After everyone was on, the mysterious Gondorian untied the rope tying the barge to a tree and boarded the barge himself. As he did so, he heard a voice in the distance, And a barge upon the water. Come, ride!.

The man calmly urged his men to propel the barge forward, and he smiled at the timing of his escape.