[Marileangorifurnimaluim]

**** Harad/Umbar - Al-Gareth outside of Nurn ****

Dogs. Al-Gareth cursed, and his mind raced, looking for escape at every turn. They had gone nearly four days out of Nurn before the belling of the hounds began to track them, with painful accuracy.

The dogs that had found them however were innocent of good and evil, tails wagging as they trailed their master, or bounded ahead to new scents. But they had found the ones their master sought, and Al-Ethkeban's soldier, the leader of the group, called them back with a sharp whistle. There were eight soldiers all told, more than enough to hold two weary men.

Al-Gareth gritted his teeth as he was flung forward a few steps through the leaves by his captors. The ropes burned into his arms, his shoulders ached; they had tied his arms at both the wrists and the elbow. The bruises on his face attested to the fact he was not a cooperative prisoner, and he slowed them at every opportunity. There was no hope of rescue, but he would not go as a lamb to the slaughter. He feigned weakness, stumbling and stubborn, hoping they would relax their guard.

At noon the guards stopped for lunch, kindling a small fire. Al-Gareth's bonds were tied to a tree, while his man was tied on the other side of the clearing. The guards didn't bother to feed them.

"Let's just kill 'em," one of the men said casually, peeling a twig and flinging the bits into the fire. Others were silent, and the leader ignored him. But another agreed, sharpening his knife on a whetstone.

"They're draggin' their feet a'purpose," he complained. The leader held up his hand.

"A dead body's worse. If we bring nothing, then how do we prove what we found?" The others nodded in agreement. "But I tell you what. If he keeps dragging his feet - we kill the other one. You like that, king?"

They made somewhat better time that afternoon.

At dusk they approached a branching in the trail, familiar to them all, when the dogs suddenly bounced ahead, barking madly as if after a hare. That was all the warning they had before arrows struck the complainer to the ground, a sword struck another soldier in the gut; suddenly men, dirty and wild-haired, poured out of the forest, overwhelming the soldiers. Al-Gareth was flung to the ground, though his guards stood their post.

Their attackers had no devices nor order, but there seemed to be nearly twice as many as the soldiers. And they knew their business, rightly ignoring Al-Gareth's guards as being unable to join the fight. The soldiers were overrun, and separated.

The leader dispatched one attacker, turning too late to defend another of his men beset by two of the brigands.

"Back to back!" he yelled, "BACK TO BACK!"

Another soldier won his fight with one attacker, then was immediately engaged by another. As Al-Gareth watched, blood stained his tunic, and his sword dropped from lifeless arms. There was a shocked look on his face.

It was too much for one of Al-Gareth's guards. He launched himself at the killer of his friend, taking him by surprise, and then dispatched another in a quick volley of blows. He fought his way to his captain, who had felled another man.

They turned to face their attackers, back to back.

Their opponents no longer vulnerable, two brigands fell to bloodied steel. Then three. A volley rang to Al-Gareth's left, and he turned just in time to see his other guard topple. The brigands no longer assumed the guards wouldn't leave their posts.

There was a pause, as sometimes happens in battle, when everything stops at once. The crossroads at the crest of the hill was a mass of bodies. Only three soldiers remained, the leader and Al-Gareth's guard standing back to back, surrounded, their swords ready. The brigands around them could now be counted. Six. A third soldier hovered, half the field away, ignored.

Then everyone moved at once. One brigand fell, five attacked.. then all was still. One brigand casually pulled his sword out of a man. The two soldiers were no more. The last soldier, who had hesitated and now was outnumbered five to one, turned and fled into the forest.

Sixteen men lay dead on the forest floor. Nine brigands. Seven soldiers.

A brigand, looking no different than any of the others, approached Al-Gareth with a slow evil smile.

"What treasure takes eight men to guard it?"

[ October 19, 2002: Message edited by: Marileangorifurnimaluim ]