[Envinyatar]

‘My leg is stiff,’ grumbled Orëmir. ‘Where the Orc club struck me in the hip . . . it’s the cold of this place, I think, that brings the aching back.’ He eased himself down beside his brother, tucking his cloak beneath his left hip to give it some padding. He’d brought his own pack as well as his brother’s over to the fire. Fishing about in the inner section of his own, he found some hard waybread bought at the western edge of The Tower Hills. The oiled parchment the old woman had wrapped it in had kept it safe for the most part from the rain and the sea. ‘Not as tasty as lembas,’ he acknowledged, levering a piece of it between his teeth to snap off a bite. ‘But it should fill in the crevices not taken up with fish.’ He passed the bread to his brother, indicating he should pass it on.

‘I brought our packs and weapons near,’ he said to his brother. ‘Whatever the source of that singing we heard, we should be prepared.’ He snorted, laying his hand on his own sword. ‘Though what protection these will be against ghosts will not be much if any. Rest and a clear mind will be of more aid, I think, than these metal blades.’ He looked to where Malris now sat, eating at his meal. ‘I worry about him . . . and in turn, all this group, since he has stepped up as acting leader on this expedition. I had hoped, at first, that this would be only a last look about of some old piece of our history, a tidying away of some rough details. Or perhaps tidying is too neat a word.’ He shook his head. ‘But I am tired and cannot think of a better. At any rate, I say we should keep alert for any more unreasoned outbursts from Malris. After all, fond though we may be of him and though for a time when we were young we did place our safety in his decisions and commands, we are no longer under his authority.’

He turned his gaze on his brother’s face. Endamir’s face was in profile, the light from the fire throwing shadows along the plane of his cheek, darkening the hollow of his eye. ‘I mean to keep you safe, brother. Be it for the voyage West or a return east with me. Death will not rob me of what few days and hours are left to us.’ The fingers of his right hand traced the fading vines that intertwined on the scabbard at his side; his left hand lay lightly on his brother’s knee.