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Angóre was kneeling by the tracks, perhaps a hundred yards from the edge of the camp when the others rode up. Gaeredhel quickly filled him in on the captain's decision and Faerim's presence. Angóre's face remained impassive, but the merest flicker of his eyes betrayed his unhappiness with the situation.
"I wonder if we were not over-rash with the good captain," he said softly. "Look here." He showed the brothers the tracks of the orcish company. "The group that executed the capture is here," he said indicating the relevant tracks, "but they are met here by a much larger force. The numbers are unclear, but I cannot make out individual tracks from here onwards so I would guess the company numbers at least twenty, more likely forty or fifty. If they were taking care, walking in file to confuse our efforts there could be as many as a hundred orcs ahead of us. Our situation has suddenly become much more desperate. We cannot defeat such numbers."
The youth, Faerim, spoke. "Then we do not fight. Perhaps we can enter the camp stealthily, and effect our rescue without being seen?" Angóre seemed to see the lad for the first time. "And then what, son of Man? We would certainly be pursued when the rescue was discovered. Would you have us bring the whole of the Orcish company down on the rear of the unsuspecting Dúnedain train?"
Gaeredhel spoke next. "Perhaps we could lead them away from the Dúnedain camp, into the wilderness. We might even make for Imladris... or the Havens. Enough of our kinsmen dwell there to repulse this company of Orcs. In any case, we may simply have to cross that bridge when we come to it. We cannot abandon our charges to the Orcs."
Angóre nodded, but his face was grim.
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