[Ransom]

Shortly after the dawn of organized warfare, veterans the world over had developed certain skills to make military life easier. One of the first lessons involved flow of information, Let the officers worry about fighting the wary—information didn’t help a man when he was slogging through knee-deep mud on half rations. Unless your officer was completely incompetent, you would know who your foe was exactly when you needed to. Certainly the three Rangers knew something of the principle, thought Barak knew that the bowmen of Ithilien generally valued flexibility over strict tactical orthodoxy. The more experienced of five agents that the Order had assigned to him probably knew something as well, though their work generally took place in the city and not in the open countryside.

Each of the eight had trickled in before the deadline to select (and pack) a mount. Luckily, most had some experience with either traveling in the snow or traveling light. Noticeably missing was any sort of beast of burden. A small amount of rations had been placed in their saddlebags. Reasoning that such animals would slow the group down, Barak had decided to seek food and lodging at the villages south of Minas Tirith. After packing, the group had gathered around the brazier with the knight and Mara.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Sir Barak Mindalel. I trust that you all have your orders?”

A series of ayes and nods came from around the circle. The knight didn’t want to waste time checking the documents at the moment—that could wait until they stopped for the night. Three fresh heads adorned the gates this morning, a grisly reminder of the constant skirmishing of between Gondor and Mordor. Each had given information to the enemy about the military of Gondor, and each had paid the price for their folly. From their considerable experience, the Order had so far managed to keep the enemy from learning about the activities of Gondorian spies at home and abroad. Barak trusted the system. Everybody here had a reason to be here.

“Three days ago, three Errand Riders left the White Tower with documents vital to Minas Tirith’s survival. Each was to have arrived in Pelagar yesterday. None arrived at the appointed time. All had been commended at some time during their career for dependency, and each one knew the terrain fairly well.”

“Furthermore, the questioning of a few prisoners indicated that some…agents…of Mordor was operating in the area as recently as last week. We suspect that they were involved in the disappearance.”

Some of the more squeamish of the group shifted uncomfortably at the mention of questioning. It was widely rumored that such sessions were quite painful, but no one was particularly interested in delving deeper into the subject.

“We will ride south, passing through the various towns where the riders should have passed through on their final trip. We’ll try to make as much time as possible this morning, while the snow’s light. Introductions can wait for the trail or for the midday meal. Very well, mount up.”

The ten men and woman somewhat reluctantly left there comfortable positions about the fire and mounted their horses. A dozen or so guards unlatched the gigantic gate and began to push the two doors open. Within a few minutes, the guards were left alone to watch the cold and slumbering city.

[ May 09, 2003: Message edited by: Ransom ]