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Old 09-16-2006, 01:56 PM   #187
Hilde Bracegirdle
Relic of Wandering Days
 
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Join Date: Dec 2002
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Hilde Bracegirdle has just left Hobbiton.
Carl

Carl emptied his damp shirt of round pebbles he had collected from the streambed, making a pile of them behind the bushes where they were to hide, and lecturing Kwell in the vast differences between hobbits and dwarves, all the while struggling to maintain a straight face. Of course he concentrated on the more obvious differences giving a wide berth to the touchy subjects of politics and general outlook on life. Vrór fortunately, had been too preoccupied with watching the camp as well as the tunnel entrance, to have overheard Kwell’s comment. But Carl had overheard it, and every time it came to mind, his body shook with suppressed mirth until at last a wheezy laugh erupted from him. To think anyone should mistake Vrór for a hobbit! Even the boy had made the connection rather warily, as if reluctant to group the two together. And though the hobbit suspected he himself was quite responsible for the confusion, for he had neglected all proper introductions in the press of events, he couldn’t help but find the humor of it irresistible.

Lindir shot him a sobering albeit not unkindly glance, and Carl tried hard to compose himself. Clearing his throat self-consciously, he apologized to the elf and the boy, and was recovering, when he saw that Vrór pointing wordlessly away from the stream, slightly west of it, looking back at the others to make sure they too saw what he had spied. Squinting, the hobbit could just make out two figures on horseback moving slowly some distance off. Once again Carl reached for the spud bar, but soon realized that the head of the spade that he carried, was gone and must have fallen somewhere in the tunnel. With its highly stylized Gondorian head, he became alarmed that it might prove a calling card to the slavers, alerting them of the efforts of Gondor on the behalf of Mordor’s slaves. Sharing these fears with the others, Lindir quickly proposed to him that Vrór and Kwell accompany him back to the passage underground, quickly looking for it before the riders reached them. He cautioned also that the slavers might have found that they could pass under the rock in the tunnel themselves, and be searching underground even now. He meanwhile, would remain to keep watch on the riders and to warn them of any untoward happenings.

And so the three clambered back inside the passage, and stood listening for a moment to see if they were alone in that catacomb, before they hurried along toward the camp, scanning the floor of the tunnel as they went. They had not gone more than a dozen yards when Kwell found the spade in the water. And bending to pick it up, he returned it to Carl observing that among the other things perhaps hobbits were more fortunate than other’s as well. And the farmer had to admit that it did certainly seem true, at least today, for who else had such friends that would risk running the gauntlet just to remedy such carelessness.

But just as they turned back to rejoin Lindir, they heard a signal from the elf. And gathering together at the mouth of the tunnel, they waited in silence, ready spring to his aid if needed. All was eerily still, until they recognized a voice. Dorran had returned, and was calling out to Lindir. But who was the second rider? Carl wondered. And after a moment or two he heard the horse galloping away. The curtain was quickly removed, and Lindir bid them to come out as he folded the rough blanket neatly. But instead of Dorran, an armed woman faced them, slight and attractive. Swathed as she was in ragged clothes, and wearing the frown of a hard life, Carl knew without being told that she was no slaver, but had been one of those to suffer their cruelty.

She said that she was Shae, and she had come looking for Azhar and Kwell.

But before she could explain further, both her and Lindir’s attention became fixed on dark shapes that were intermittently passing before the glowing fires of the slavers’ camp. Two shapes were rapidly growing larger. And they were heading directly for the gully.

Jumping across to move further down stream, back to the heavy brush, Carl gave Kwell his knife as they organized themselves on the bank opposite the tunnel entrance, so that they had a clear view of both the hole and the camp that lay beyond it. Kwell and Shae crouched waiting, off to Lindir’s right, and Vrór and the hobbit were hidden among the bushes on his left as the two slavers approached the gully in the moonlight.

Slinking about, the two men hopped down to the stream, noiselessly following it toward the place were the others were concealed. As they neared the tunnel’s entrance they slowed, examining it and the ground before moving on. After a short distance they stopped. “They are gone,” one finally said, straightening his back. “It must have been a slave child with a horse that snuck in and carried those brats off. See the hooves marks and small footprints here? Came from the west... one of their cronies no doubt... from that group of slaves. No chance of catching them and teaching them a lesson now.”

“I know...I know.... I suppose we will have to tell Imak then, though he’s in rare form tonight. I don’t relish giving him the bad news. We have waited too long.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll know we can catch them again at their camp. And besides Imak won’t want too many babies now that we know they can fit through that crack. We’ll have to keep them chained together out in the sun, to keep an eye on them. Better to have found out now then after the big raid, eh?”

“You can break it to him then, if you think its a such good thing, and tell him about Hamin too while your at it,” the other slaver said as he pulled himself up out of the gully. “The brute might be able to ride a horse yet, but it will be a while before he can wield a sword or lance as well as he could! If he finds those two, they better watch out, he’s bound to have something in store for them.”

“He was none too happy,” the first laughed following behind the other, as they walked back toward the camp.

“You’d be wild too, if some young whelp nearly took your hand off.”

And as the two men grew smaller, hurrying back to their camp, Carl sat behind the bushes feeling very, very alone and very miserable, hoping that this Hamin might never see Azhar or Kwell ever again.

Last edited by Hilde Bracegirdle; 09-18-2006 at 10:08 AM.
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