|
Angóre sped over the soft ground, his mind reeling from Rôsgollo's revelation. Orcs! How had they escaped detection? In three weeks of scouting for the train Angóre had not seen a single trace of orc spoor, and the yrch were hardly stealthy under normal circumstances. Everything about this felt wrong, and Angóre feared some dark design lay behind it.
The camp lay still and silent; the night's activities had not yet been discovered by the majority of the host when Angóre reached the tent that had housed Betheril, Erenor and the lord Ereglin. The ground was churned up, many heavy, iron-shod feet had left their imprints on the soft ground, and Angóre could tell without entering the tent that his two charges were gone. He knelt, studying the tracks. There was no sign of the lightly shod Elves, and he sighed. They must have been carried out rather than led. He had been hoping for a sign they had been conscious and alert during their capture, but even that frail hope had been dashed.
He moved inside the tent. The place looked serene, undisturbed as though the inhabitants had just stepped out. He frowned. Another odd sign. In Angóre's experience, Orcs would slash and batter anything, especially items and keepsakes of Elven craft. It took a fell captain to keep such soldiers in line. He found Erenor's sword, untouched and still sheathed, lying beside her bedroll.
Angóre traced the tracks back outside the tent, and followed them slowly towards the wood. He saw where they had encountered another, apparently unexpected person. At least, a small set of tracks intersected the rough Orc-prints and came not away again. But he could see no blood anywhere; a hopeful sign, if distinctly odd.
Angóre straightened. He had followed the tracks as far as the edge of the camp, and he dared follow them no further without taking the council of Rôsgollo and Gaeredhel. He crossed back through the camp, headed for the tent of the Dúnedain lord.
The guard at the flap looked up from where he sat, his cheek showing red as though he had been struck. "Another of you bloody Elves, is it? You can damn well sit out here 'till Lord Hírvegil tells me different," he said, but Angóre ignored his complaint and ducked under the tent flap.
He caught the end of Rôsgollo's sentance "Or must we attend to this on our own?" The Lord of the Dúnedain was lying on his cot, having propped himself on his elbows to listen to the Elf.
"There is more," Angóre interjected. "Another, I would guess a woman, was taken as well as Lord Ereglin and Ladies Betheril and Erenor. I do not think that they were harmed, but there is something exceedingly strange about the whole endeavor. Were it not for Rôsgollo's intelligence I would almost think the culprits were Men, rather than Orcs. They did not despoil the tent, shed no blood and showed stealth and woodscraft in the capture. There is much about this that I do not understand. But the answer to this puzzle must wait. Lord Hírvegil, we must give chase soon!"
|