[Envinyatar]

The third day of riding brought them in sight of the bridge, Veryadan could smell the muddy flats that lay along the length of this part of the Hoarwell. The rains had been more frequent of late in this area, he guessed, since the smell was not as cloying as in high summer when the water ran narrow in its channel. The companions had pulled up just before the bridge. Tarondo had sent a scout ahead to see if there were signs of the enemy that could be made out. There were Orcs, number unknown, who had followed along behind them as they made their way along the road. But they were always just out of site, and the companions had decided not to hunt them at this point but to flee with all haste to the safety of Rivendell.

Veryadan’s eyes took in the areas to the north and south of the road. Forested areas here to the north, but set off a ways from the road edge – still he wondered how many Orcs were watching as they neared the river. To the south were low, rolling hills, less apt to provide places for the enemy to hide, though yet . . .

His right hand reached to where the bandage was secured. What herbs they had used seemed to be doing some good. There had been very little bleeding this last day, though there was some increase if he twisted his torso too much. To fully heal, he knew would require the remedies available from the healers at the Last Homely House. He flexed his left hand and carefully raised the arm up and down. Full feeling had not come back until yesterday, late, and the muscles still felt weak, his grip tenuous.

The scout had come back, saying there had been no sign that he could find, save for the fact that the birds seemed unusually silent in the fir forest that stood beyond the bridge. ‘That, yes,’ thought Veryadan, ‘and the heavy feeling I have as if the darkness beneath the vows is waiting.’ The ranger urged his horse up to where Luinien was stopped. ‘Bind me a little tighter, if you will,’ he said to her, handing a length of clothe one of his caregivers had placed in his pack. Once done, he pulled his boiled leather jerkin back into place and checked the lacings on his vambraces. Loosening the strap that secured his blade, he nodded to Tarondo. ‘Take the lead. Let’s make our way across the bridge, then.’ Osric and Aidwain brought up the rear, weapons ready.

The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves over the stone bridge sounded loud against the waiting silence of the trees. The companions followed the needle strewn path that led under the thick layers of boughs. The last two had barely passed under when stinging arrows flew at them from behind a few of the trees.

‘The Orcs are upon us!’ Veryadan cried, spurring his horse along. ‘Make for the clearing a little ways on,’ one of the other Rangers shouted. ‘We’ll regroup there to make our stand.’