[Envinyatar]

Veryadan

Once Veryadan had finished with his meal, he’d gone upstairs to get his map of Breeland and the surrounds. There were a number of patrons of the Pony already standing about in little groups talking over the dark rumours they’d heard of merchants waylaid on the byways off the main road, the livestock gone missing. Gruesome stories of the farm dogs found dead, their skulls crushed, rumpled bodies heaved to the sides of the grassy fields where their now missing charges were pastured.

‘We thought they was done in by them wolves from up north. Happened a long time ago, as my own grand-da used to tell in his old stories about the time before the King,’ one grey pated sheepman said, shaking his head at the thought. ‘But,’ his brother went on, ‘in the old man’s stories, the wolves kilt a few sheep, ripped their throats out like. Ate what they could and dragged off a few of the lambs. This is sumfin bigger. Sometimes whole flocks is driven off over the rocky ground.’

‘And most times now, you hear the farmer’s house is hit, too. People been kilt. What savings they had and any fancy things - taken.’

The Ranger cleared a space on one of the tables and spread out the map he and the others had marked last night. He motioned those telling their stories to gather round and tell them one more time. ‘One at a time, if you please. And come stand near me here.’ The older man who’d spoken of wolves and his grand-da’s stories came up slowly, a rather sheepish grin on his face as the gazes of the others fell on him. He’d taken off his battered leather hat and stood twisting it in his hands, unsure of what the Ranger was wanting. He looked at the map perplexed; it was not something he’d seen before.

Veryadan drew his attention with a pointed finger at the little outline of Bree he’d drawn on the thick vellum. ‘Here’s Bree,’ he said, and the little dot here, The Pony. Just imagine you’re some sort of bird flying over and peeking down at the land below. This here’s your hedge and dike . . .’

‘Oh, aye!’ said the man, the light of understanding come into his face. ‘And this little line’s the Great Road what runs past us, isn’t it?’ Veryadan nodded. The man’s brother hovered near and pointed out the little patch of crudely drawn trees to the east of Bree. ‘Why there’s the woods and the little towns are marked with them circles.’ Murmurs from the others who had crowded in about the table brought recognition of other places on the map. ‘Well, I’ll be,’ said one fellow. ‘If that don’t beat all! There’s that old road up to Deadman’s Dike.’ ‘And old Weathertop’s marked here,’ cried another, quite pleased with his find.

Now that the group had gained some understanding of the map, they spoke with confidence about the incidents they’d heard discussed. Once again, Veryadan placed the thin parchment over the original map, pointing out to them where the other Rangers had placed their tales of the marauders. The men looked shrewdly at the map, saying the stories they knew of were happening closer now to Breeland. ‘Here’s the one old Tom told me,’ said one of the farmers in from Archet. He put his grubby finger down on a place just north of Weathertop, leaving a dirty smudge in which Veryadan marked an ‘X’ and asked about when did the incident happen. Others crowded in then, eager to have their stories heard, their marks put on the Ranger’s map.

When they were all heard, Veryadan called for a round of ale for the group and thanked them. They hung about the table, looking at the patterns of ‘X’s he’d put there. One of them shook his head, voicing the unspoken concern that was beginning to dawn on the group. ‘This don’t look good for Bree, Master Veryadan,’ said one of the younger fellows. He took a gulp of his beer, then shook his head at the map. ‘Whatever it is what’s been attacking the outlying places is moving closer to Chetwood. Don’t it look so to you fellows?’ Others nodded their assent.’

‘Well, if that’s so,’ said one grizzled old pig farmer from out Archet way, ‘then you’ve got to think whoever it is moving their camp in closer, don’t you think?’ Veryadan clapped the man on the shoulder, saying that’s one of the reasons he’d wanted to use the map. ‘I haven’t been in this area in a very long time. Since before the War, really.’ He turned the map round so that the bulk of the men could see it. ‘If you were going to look for the source of the trouble, where do you think a good place to start looking might be? And we’ll need a place to all meet back and share what we’ve learned. What’s the easiest place to get to if we go out to see about some of the places I’ve marked from your stories?’

Murmurs of Weathertop followed from some with grunts of affirmation from the others. ‘Easy place to get to,’ a few said. Tracing some tracks on the parchment that were not yet drawn in. ‘Good place for a look-see, too,’ the lot of them agreed.

Veryadan looked over the throng, toward the bar where Silrûth stood talking to a familiar looking figure. He hoped to catch the Elf’s eye. Perhaps the man could place another ‘X’ on the map for the searchers to take a look at . . .