The Lingering Darkness Fan-fiction

[Ealasaide]

Naiore

Naiore roused Barrold Ferny and Benia Nightshade well before the first light of dawn and urged them forward, bleary-eyed and stumbling, onward into the pre-dawn darkness. The path had leveled off shortly before they made camp the night before and now began a distinct and steady decline in altitude. Naiore smiled to herself. They would soon reach the far side of the Misty Mountains and she would be able to make her turn toward the south and safety. Once she had acquired a horse, she felt that her escape would be assured. She cast a glance back toward Ferny, who rubbed his eyes and spat over the side of the precipice. She would move more quickly, too, when she was again alone. Speed was now of the absolute importance.

Throughout the night as Ferny and his soon-to-be-awarded prize lay sleeping, Naiore had sensed the presence of Léspheria growing ever stronger, ever nearer. While ordinarily Naiore would have welcomed the pursuit of her kinswoman, would have savored the notion of a showdown between the two of them, Naiore felt now that the timing was all wrong. For one thing, Léspheria was no doubt surrounded by Rangers bent on Naiore’s destruction, which left the odds heavily weighted against the Ravenner. For another thing, Naiore had been put on the defensive. She preferred to dictate the time and place for her battles, never allowing others to gain the advantage. She would do so again. For the time being, she decided philosophically, let little Léspheria and her rangers follow her trail. She would lose them at the first opportunity, then circle back and attack them under her own terms. Under her own terms. The soft smile that had spread across Naiore’s fair features vanished as she turned forward again and increased her pace. She would control the terms of their engagement. No one else.

Behind her, Naiore heard Ferny swearing loudly as he momentarily lost his footing and slid several yards down the steep path in a hail of loose stone and gravel. As Naiore looked back, he gave the southern woman a sharp push forward as though she had been somehow to blame. He raised his hand to cuff her as well except that the southern woman lowered her dark head and quickened her pace, evading the blow. Naiore turned away and continued walking, knowing it was unlikely, once she left the woman in Ferny‘s hands, that Benia Nightshade would survive even a year. It would not take long before Ferny went too far and killed her in a drunken rage, but such was Benia Nightshade’s lot in life. It was not of any concern to Naiore. She threw her mind backward, into the darkness that still lingered over the west, searching for the presence of Léspheria. How far away was she? Had she gained any ground upon them in the night? No, it seemed not. The elven lady was still back there, but trailing just as far behind as she had been the night before. Naiore’s serene smile returned to her lips. Léspheria presented no immediate threat. Even so, Naiore knew better than to take the narrow lead she possessed for granted. Instead, she sought to expand it, pushing her companions to maintain a terrible pace.

Hiking steadily throughout the day, the three travelers paused only briefly for food and water. By early evening they had reached a distance far into the foothills on the eastern side of the Misty Mountains. By nightfall, the flat lands lay spread out before them like an open promise, the Old Forest Road just visible to the south, cutting across the open ground toward them from the direction of the great Anduin River. Gladden Fields, Naiore’s destination, lay only a few days’ march to the south... or an even fewer days’ ride.

[Nerindel]

Amandur

By nightfall of the following day, Amandur, Avanill and the three elves were deep within the foothills of the misty mountains. They had rested only briefly after defeating the orcs in the pass, but long enough for Amandur to decided that it was time to trust the young merchant. He had returned the young mans belongings to him instructing him to have his potion ready as soon as was able before pressing them on down the east side of the mountain. They now rode through the night working their way across the rugged foot-hills that fronted the mountains, Amandur continued to press them on until the dawn light began to creep out of the east and spilled out into the green open plains before them. They rested then for a few hours, each taking their turn at watch. But all was quiet, Naiore had done what she had set out to do waylaying them long enough with the orc’s that she could reach the open plains ahead of them.

The previous day Léspheria and Menecin had taken it in turns to scout ahead. Late in the afternoon of that day Menecin had returned informing them that he had discovered fresh tracks of a second group following the ravennor. Taking them to where he had found the trail both Amandur and Lespheria had instantly realised that the prints were that of a well booted man and two hobbits struggling to keep pace with the rangers longer stride. Dulrain, Master Longholes and Mrs Banks Amandur told the others, there had been an distinct sound of relief in his voice as he had spoken, having found no hint of them since before the pass he had begun to fear the worst had befallen them. But this new sign had shown that not only were they alive but they were somewhere just a few hours ahead. However they had not managed to catch them up as he had hoped and now as he sat in the grey dawn taking the last watch Amandur thought about their next course.

His plan had been to follow the foot-hills southward avoiding the unnecessary hindrance of having to cross the river Ninglor, then surrounding and confronting their elusive prey on the fields of the gladden. But now he was unsure, he was not certain how much distance the elf had managed gained from them and if they could reach the fields before her. He was more than certain if they did not then they would all but likely end up walking right into a trap of the ladies devise. But as he looked out at the vast open plains before them he liked that option even less, following the revennor out into the open would leave them vulnerable to ambush and any number of other dangers. But the danger of the revennor getting to one of them and manipulating them to her will before the young merchant had time to deliver his gift played heaviest on his thoughts.

After a cold breakfast of stale bread and dried fruit the small company again mounted and after much thought and debate with the others Amandur decided they would stick to the foot-hills and follow their course southward hoping to overtake the elf and surround her before she could reach the now deserted forests of Lothorien. He hoped that the revennor still travelling on foot with her two less flighty companions in tow would slow her down enough for them to gain the distance they needed to get ahead of her.

Noon came, As they passed the old forest road to the east of them and steadily wound their way along the rocky foot-hills. The air was now warm and only wispy cloud skittered across the noonday skies. Amandur, Léspheria and Menecin continued to take it in turns to ride to the edge of the hills to make sure their quarry did not make any unexpected turns or stops that they had not anticipated. Amandur had already informed the company that they would ride until dark, Anxious to make up the distance on those they pursued, determined that before they stopped they would find some sign that they had finally over taken the elf. No one argued the point. They rode on silently for the remainder of the afternoon, watching as the small wisps of clouds joined together, expanding and growing menacingly darker then with the coming of early evening the clouds finally burst, the rain coming down on them in fat heavy drops forcing them to once more find shelter.

******************************************

Vanwe

They made camp in a grove of sycamores hidden between the hills, there was fresh water and grass for the horses, they quickly gathered what dry wood they could still find and lit a small fire. As soon as they were settled and had eaten, Lespheria and Amandur left to backtrack their trail and determine how much ground they had gained on Naiore. While the others dried off their cloaks and waited their return Vanwe watched the young merchant over the low flames of the fire. She had not forgotten how he had stayed by her during the battle, However she could not forget that he had been one of those who had helped to hold her against her will and that she had already seen him murder another man. But he had not been rough like Barrold infact as she thought on it he had been courteous well at least till she tried to escape. Would he not have done the same if the circumstances were reversed she wondered tilting her head slightly to consider the young man.

As Avanill feeling her eyes upon him looked up she thought to lower her gaze but could not she wanted to understand…understand why Amandur trusted him when Léspheria did not! Though she carefully hid it from the others, Vanwe could somehow feel the distrust her cousin held towards the young man, she also wanted to understand why he choose the life he did, she somehow felt she owed him that. Slowly she rose and moved to sit nearer the young man his eyes watching her move, as she came around the fire she saw that he had several bottles out before him, a small billy boiled on the fire and a small wooden bowl and mortar sat before him.

“Is that ….” she began to asked hesitantly.

“for you mother” Avanill finished coolly, she nodded still staring at the contains of the bowl with a measure of both wonderment and unexplained anxiety.

“yes it is!” the young man finish and Vanwe look up surprised to hear the sympathetic tone in his voice.

“I mean she is still your mother this must be hard for you!” Avanill continued.

Vanwe thought for a moment then shook her head, “what she does is wrong she hurts people even herself she must be stopped, if ever their was a mothers love within her it is all since gone, one thing consumes her…drives her all else I believe is but an empty shell lonely and hollow.” She stared deep into the flames of the fire as if pondering further then whispered “I cannot hate her but only wish to understand and in the end if it comes to that she shall not be alone.” Suddenly realising that she had spoke her thought aloud and to whom she quickly tried to turn the conversation back to the merchant and why he lived his life as he did.

“Why do you do this… I mean selling your goods to people like my mother and aiding them in their misadventures, surely such skills could be put to better use…. Is profit really everything?” As she waited his answer she softly studied his well tanned features trying to find something that perhaps she had not noticed before something that would assure her that they could really trust him.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

It was only when they had reached the rolling land that lay at the base of the mountains that Gilly found her footing again. And before the hills melted into the plains that ran off at their left, her courage was somewhat renewed. She looked out through the trees to the grassy hills searching for any sign of Miss Benia, hoping that the clouds threatening rain, might pass them by, and they might have a little more time before nightfall. This was landscape the hobbit felt she could better understand. But the clouds that had grown low and heavy broke, and a gentle rain began to fall upon them. The greens faded to grey, and the trunks of the thinning trees to black as the light faded and Dúlrain slowed his pace looking for a place for them to wait out the increasing cloudburst.

When at last they stopped Gilly thought it seemed almost a pleasant place that Dúlrain chose for them. A large elm that had once stood proudly near the edge of the woods lay partially uprooted, the great bole resting on the hillside and its eastward roots reaching up in the air at angle, bare except for dirt and long grass that clung to them. Beneath these splayed rafters a dry den was formed, several feet wide. It was into this deep hollow they climbed as the rain pelted down and the night closed in about them. And though looking out and to the east one would have had a broad view overlooking the plains had the sun been shining, this night they saw only the occasional glimmer of raindrops, like silver brightly edging the grass that hung down at the mouth of the den.

Gilly sat down hugging her aching knees as she stared into the darkness beyond their shelter. It had been quite some time since they had eaten anything beyond the fresh herbs and berries they found upon their way, and she felt it keenly. Having left Rivendell in such a great hurry, the hobbits had not thought to provision themselves, and in this pressed march they had long since finished what supply Dúlrain had left in his bags. And though the ranger provided also a little fresh meat that they happened across along their way, all three were aware that time spent looking for food was time that Naiore could make good use of, and so did not stray off their course to hunt. Besides, Gilly had neither pot nor skillet at hand so she thought it was just as well not to think of such things, the others seemed not to be bothered by pangs as she was. So the hobbit sat listening to the rain, trying to ignore her empty stomach and the accompanying weakness. What she would give now for even for what Kaldir had carried. Benia had always proved to have the better provender among her bags. “Oh, if only we had a pot of Miss Benia’s tea!” she found herself saying, remembering the last time she had savored it. She sighed deeply. Kaldir had still been alive then.

“I could do with a bit more than tea,” she heard Toby confess in the darkness beside her. “Something to chew maybe. Something to fill this hollow under my ribs.”

Gilly thought of a nice roast, set out on the table in her brightly lit and dry kitchen at home, the faces of her expectant family gathered around. “Yes, so could I,” she admitted. “And a little more daylight and a little less rain as well", she added softly.

“A nicely basted chicken, maybe,” Toby mused.

A rattle was heard as Dúlrain who had lain down, shifted his weight. “Mrs. Banks, you should be careful of what you say,” he said. So far away his voice seemed to Gilly, and weary. “I have not the same skill in tracking as Kaldir and the rain will help us, though it may disturb some of what the earth may tell us for a little while. But we must sleep now, while we can.”

“I am sorry, of course you are right Mister Dúlrain. You rest now, I will take watch,” Gilly volunteered, though she too felt dreadfully tired.

“No, Mrs. Banks, you rest a bit yourself, and I will watch,” Toby said standing up as far as the roots allowed him. “I will watch for anything that moves, and provided I find something- but nothing fearsome as would harm us, mind you- well then we might just have ourselves something for breakfast in the morning!”

“That would be wonderful indeed, Mister Longholes. I hope that you find something to your taste,” Gilly said.

“In that case it had better be something large,” he joked as he climbed out of the hollow.

“But if anything is amiss or if the rain stops, do not delay in waking us, Master Longholes,” Dúlrain requested the hobbit.

“Not to worry!” Toby said sticking his head back in the den. “This hobbit knows the difference between a cricket and a chunk of cheese. And I wouldn’t waste a minute fretting on whether or not to wake you, you’d know something is up just as soon as me, but I trust no sooner than that!” With that he was gone, and Gilly was left trying to relax enough to sleep, but her mind would not settle.

“Do you really, trust him Mister Dúlrain?” Gilly asked after a while, not knowing if the ranger had fallen asleep.

“Rest easy Mrs. Banks,” his voice said quietly. “I do not think Master Longholes would risk leaving, and I have long ago grown accustomed to sleeping with an ear open for trouble.”

“But you are tired.”

“And you also, I should think.”

It was true and the hobbit lay down on the bare ground, tucking her feet up under her skirts. “Mister Dúlrain?” she began again. “You haven’t found anything new since I last asked, anything I should know about, have you?”

There was a silence and Gilly thought perhaps the ranger had drifted off despite his attention to trouble. “No Mrs. Banks, I have not,” he answered her after a lengthy pause. “I have not seen any sure sign of a struggle. Now sleep and in the morning light we will speak of what I have and have not found, in great detail if you would like.”

“Mister Dulrain?” the hobbit questioned in the damp darkness. “Forgive me, but I’ve one more question now that Mister Longholes is away. I’ve wanted to ask you for some time now, but honestly I was afraid to hear what you might say,” she admitted. “Of course you don’t have to answer, “ she added quickly, “though I truly wish that you might.”

“Let’s have your question then, and I will answer it if I am able,” Dúlrain said.

It seemed to Gilly much easier to put into words now that she was so tired and could no longer see the his expression. Almost as if she were between sleep and waking. “Tell me, how was it really that Mr. Kaldir died?” she finally asked the darkness. And after what seemed an immeasurable pause she spoke again, “Did he and Mr. Rauthain have a falling out? I had worried it might come to that, you know.”

She heard a deep in take of breath just a few feet beside her, and immediately regretted having broached the subject. It was not easy for the ranger.

“No, it was not Rauthain.” Dúlrain’s voice cut clear through the night. “My brother, though still living had all but left us by the time Rauthain met him at the edge of the vale. I have no doubt that he had finally found who he had been seeking since he left Bree,” Dúlrain stopped for a moment. “This was no longer Kaldir the ranger nor even Kaldir the bounty hunter, Mrs. Banks. It was not the man we know, who fell. It was this man who killed Rauthain and who also had set upon me.”

Gilly understood then, what Dúlrain would not say. “But why? He had fought so very long against her. How could she turn him in less than a day’s time?”

“Benia,” came Dúlrain’s reply through the dark. “He did to help Benia.”

The hobbit, troubled by this answer, thought largely on these three of her friends until she passed into a dreamless slumber, not waking or stirring until it was time to move on.

[Ealasaide]

Barrold Ferny

The chill rain that had begun to fall with the dusk, grew steadily harder and faster as evening faded into night, but still Naiore Dannan pressed onward. Barrold hunched his shoulders against the cold and sunk deeper into his cloak, too wet and miserable to bother with spitting or swearing or anything else for that matter. Stubbornly, doggedly, he continued walking, placing one foot after the other on the slick, muddy path, taking care not to slip, but paying no mind to the footprints he left behind as each step sunk ankle deep into the gray, sucking mud. Barrold Ferny’s mind was elsewhere.

Watching the slender, straight figure of the southern woman walking ahead of him, Ferny’s mind was already in the Dale. According to his fantasy, he had already taken the finest room at local inn and invited his envious friends over to show off not only his prosperity but his prize, the black-haired beauty who would wait on him hand and foot and see to his every paltry, petty want. He could see it all so clearly: the fire crackling in the grate, the wide oaken table laden with every hot and inviting dish he could think of... mutton, spiced beef, roast venison, a roast goose with golden, crackling skin, and, oh.. the poacher’s pie. Pitchers of the inn’s finest ale would wash it all down, the southern woman dutifully filling his tankard each time it ran low, piling his plate with food until he ate his fill, a soft flush rising in her cheeks each time he looked at her, waiting patiently for his friends to go away that they might be alone. Ferny grinned in spite of himself. He was just reaching out to stroke her satin skin when an icy trickle of rainwater penetrated his hood and ran down the back of his neck like the cold finger of death. The rosy glow of the inn vanished instantly and the lovely southern woman, who only a moment earlier had seemed so warm and inviting, became a cipher, a slim gray silhouette, ever just out of his reach, and barely even visible to him through the gloom and pelting rain. He frowned darkly and began trying at once to re-conjure the vision.

“Ferny!” barked Naiore. She had stopped several paces ahead of him and stood pointing at something on the ground at her feet. Grumbling as the cozy vision of the inn disappeared forever, Barrold Ferny slogged over to where she stood and looked down. There at her feet were fresh hoof prints, just filling with rainwater. Whoever it was, the rider was heading toward the Anduin and had only recently crossed their trail. Ferny pushed back his hood and squinted into the east, half-expecting to see the vague shadow of a mysterious horse and rider.

“Get me that horse,” hissed Naiore. “If the rider has any sense at all, he won’t have gone far in this mud and rain. The footing is far too treacherous.” She paused for a moment and grew silent as though searching the night, then nodded. “The rider remains nearby. Bring me his horse.”

“And then?” ventured Ferny gruffly. The happy fantasy of the inn still hovered near the top of his mind. If the elf kept her word, he might be able to make it a reality sooner than he thought.

For an instant, Naiore’s eyes glittered dangerously in the depths of her hood, but when she spoke her voice seemed cool and without malice. “Bring the horse to me,” she said calmly. “Follow my trail due south from this point until you find us. When the horse is in my possession, you shall have the woman.”

“And you won’t need me no more, neither?”

“You shall be free of your obligation to me and may follow whatever path you like.”

Needing no more instruction or confirmation, Barrold Ferny grunted his acceptance of Naiore’s terms. With a final glance at Benia Nightshade, he turned and jogged into the night, closely following the trail of hoof prints. He had not gone more than a few hundred feet when the one set of prints became two. The rider had dismounted. By then, the rain had begun to come down in sheets. Ferny bent nearly double as he ran, keeping his face close to the ground so as not to lose the trail that he followed, glancing up only occasionally to make sure that he would not accidentally overtake his quarry before he was aware of it. Finally, as he rounded a bend in the trail, Ferny’s sharp eyes caught the faint flicker of a small fire. Seconds later the sharp smell of smoke struck his nostrils. The fool has built himself a campfire. Ferny smiled.

Slowing his pace, Ferny drew his dagger. Holding his body close to the ground, he kept to the shadows as he crept closer and closer toward the fire. As he grew nearer, the horse, a mud-spattered brown mare, began to stamp and whinny nervously. The man who had been riding her stood up from the fallen log he had been using for a seat and squinted into the darkness. Ferny froze, holding his breath as the man’s gaze passed over him, not seeing. Ferny studied his prey.

The stranger was a big fellow, as big as Ferny himself, with a broad good-natured face, a trusting face. A farmer, no doubt thought Ferny. Too bad for him that he should be out on such a night. Ferny also noticed the heavy sword he wore at his side, which was unusual for a farmer, at least under ordinary circumstances. He wondered if the farmer really knew how to use it or if he wore it more for the purpose of intimidating any would-be highwaymen or footpads, such as himself. Not wanting to find out, Ferny decided that stealth would be the best option. The shelter the farmer had chosen was nothing more than the shelter offered by the spreading boughs of an ancient oak tree. He had built his sputtering little fire between the roots, and tied his horse to another raised root nearby. As far as Ferny could see, the man’s position was completely exposed. Ferny grinned, tightening the grip on his dagger.

Seeing nothing but darkness and rain, the man turned and gave his horse a friendly pat on the neck before sitting down to warm himself at the fire. As soon as he was settled, Ferny again crept forward, skirting the trail to his right so that he might come up behind the unsuspecting traveler. It was over in seconds. Ferny leapt upon the stranger before he was even aware of what was happening and, in a single fluid motion of his arm, slit the man’s throat, nearly severing the head from the body. A warm rush of blood poured forth over Ferny’s arm, mingling with the rain. Ferny dropped the man’s lifeless body beside the smoldering remains of the fire. Then, he carefully and deliberately searched the man’s pockets, removing among other things, his purse and an old pocket watch. Ferny held the watch up to his ear. Hearing no answering tick, he flung it into the fire and continued his search, finding nothing else of interest but a fairly serviceable pocketknife and packet of pipeweed, both of which he tucked into his tunic, alongside the man‘s purse. Then, with nothing else left to be done, he untied the horse’s reins from the tree root and flung himself into the saddle.


**********************************

Benia

Feeling more like a salmon than a human being, Benia trudged doggedly onward through the rain. With Barrold Ferny gone on his mission to steal a horse for Naiore, Benia found herself leading the way with the elf walking several silent paces behind her. Still they pressed southward. Having overheard the conversation between the two co-conspirators, she knew that she would soon be leaving the Ravener’s company and felt a spark of hope. While she feared Barrold Ferny and what he could ultimately do to her, she feared Naiore Dannan far more. Knowing that her chances of escape would be better once Naiore had gone her own way, Benia felt almost optimistic. She could handle Barrold Ferny. In fact, she had a feeling she could take care of him for good if she could just lay her hands on a few leaves of oleander.

“Or belladonna,” she murmured under her breath, remembering how she had had the same thoughts regarding Kaldir, as she and Gilly had rode behind him and his gray horse through the streets of Bree. How long ago it seemed, although it had only been a matter of weeks. Now Kaldir was dead, having given his life to protect her, and she would have given anything to bring him back. A single tear welled up in the corner of her eye and trembled there for a moment before breaking free and mingling with the rain on her face. How easy it was to think of murder and killing and how hard was the reality, she thought. Yet, at the same time, she knew that Barrold Ferny was no Kaldir. Even when she had feared for her life at Kaldir’s hand, Kaldir had shown that trace of nobility of spirit, that hint of kindness that belied the man beneath the rough exterior and the scars. Barrold Ferny showed nothing of the sort, only ruthless self-interest and greed. She remembered the way he had struck her in the face when she tried to warn Kaldir away from the camp above Rivendell and the way he had swung at her again for no reason when he had tripped and fallen on the rocky path coming out of the mountains. Unless she managed to escape, he would beat her mercilessly. She must do what she could to preserve herself.

Benia shivered and blew on her cold hands that were bound in front of her. She must do what she could...

She was still thinking along these lines when she heard the distant clop-clop of hoofbeats. The rain had slackened to a light drizzle, and the hoofbeats approached rapidly. Benia stopped walking and glanced back to see that Naiore had stopped walking a few paces earlier and now stood in the center of the path with her hood thrown back and her clear eyes focused on the path they had just come by. A look of cold triumph came into her face as Barrold Ferny reined the horse to a halt in front of her. At that moment, the moon sailed out from behind the blanket of clouds and Benia saw with horror that Ferny’s right arm was red with another man’s blood. She lowered her eyes and murmured a soft Haradrim prayer for the dead. Murder. To think, only seconds earlier, she had been contemplating murder herself. Seeing the blood still fresh on Ferny’s sleeve, the crimson evidence of such a crime, she knew that even if she had the poisons she had been thinking of, she would never use them. She could not coldly and deliberately take a life. She must find another way to save herself.

She watched as Ferny dismounted and exchanged a few sentences with Naiore, looking several times toward Benia as he spoke. Idly, he wiped his bloody hands on his tunic and grinned. A clear expression of disgust flitted across Naiore’s fair features, then vanished as she nodded and smiled serenely, speaking some last parting words to Ferny that Benia was unable to hear. Finally, without another glance toward either of them, the Ravener swung herself gracefully into the saddle and rode away into the darkness toward the south.

As the last rumble of hoofbeats faded into the distance, Benia found herself alone with Barrold Ferny.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Menecin

Straight and tall, Menecin silently watched in the rain, listening. Looking up the elf saw that not even the occasional glimpse of clear sky was to be seen among the fast moving clouds. Yet somewhere before them were Naiore… and the others. That smaller party, which also trailed her, and which he hoped still lay between her and his own traveling companions. It seemed a doomed mission that these few had set themselves upon, unless they might be reached and reinforced quickly. Just how well did this young ranger understand the lady Dannan and her perilous ways? Was he truly prepared to assail someone with her skill having only the aid of two Periannath? A twinge of foreboding overtook him and steeling himself against it, he continued his watch.

In the patter of steady rain, he heard a footfall behind him. And Menecin who quickly recognized the timing of Amandur’s stride in the sound, did not let his gaze waver as the ranger approached him, but still surveying the landscape, he continued to hope for some sign that might direct them on their way. “Are there any new tidings?” Amandur asked as he drew alongside the bard, the rain dripping from his hair. “What might elven eyes see in this downpour?”

“My eyes see naught but fair woods and plains, glad of summer rain. They have not alighted on any that could not rightfully call this place home,” Menecin reported.

The ranger nodded, “Truly a beacon such as a campfire would provide, is too much to hope for in this rain and rolling terrain. But given the danger of unfriendly eyes it is even more unlikely. Dúlrain is not foolish.”

Menecin finally allowed himself to meet the ranger’s gaze. “It has troubled me greatly, Amandur,” the rich voice confessed reluctantly. “It has troubled me that Dúlrain should continue on ahead of us. Surely, he knows that you would not let him face this task alone and that we cannot be far behind. Tell me, what manner of man is this we follow, and that would dare seek her out?”

“It is troubling to me as well that we have not yet caught up with him.” Amandur admitted to the bard. “But do not think he would wait for us. He has much grievance with the Lady Dannan, and would not risk letting her trail grow cold. For she has slowly and completely destroyed Kaldir whom Dúlrain called brother, and now holds captive yet another he holds dear.”

“The Southern woman? That is ill tidings, indeed.” Menecin bowed his head, before raising it once again to search the grassy plains and scanty woods shrouded in darkness. “But what of the Periannath?”

“One is a close friend of Miss Nightshade, but the other Halfling’s presence remains a mystery to me. He had accompanied the Lady Dannan willingly from Bree, but apparently left her company and joined Dúlrain and Kaldir before they had reached the borders of Imladris. I do not know why he has continued onward from there.”

“This also bodes evil to my mind,” the elf said. “Then let us hope, that with the morning light we might ride swiftly now that we are no longer upon mountain paths.”

“And let us hope also that Dúlrain does not meet with the Ravennor of Mordor before we are able to find him,” Amandur added, echoing the thoughts that Menecin left had unspoken. But the elf did not respond to him, feeling a strong dissonance to hear Naiore referred to by such a designation. And though he knew well it was true, he withdrew again within himself and his memories until Amandur said that he would stand watch, and Menecin returned the sycamore grove, and sat apart from the rest.

[Ealasaide]

Barrold Ferny

As the sound of hoof beats faded into the distance, Barrold Ferny realized two things: the first was that Naiore had really gone, leaving him free to go about his own business again, just as he had been before she turned up. He had been so certain that this venture was going to end badly that the idea sunk in slowly. The other thing was that he was still alive and in full control of his faculties, not to mention full control of a set of very valuable mithril book covers and a enticingly delectable woman. While Naiore Dannan had not delivered on all of the power and riches she had promised, Ferny decided that he really had not done too badly for himself. He hefted the pack that contained the book covers higher on his shoulders and looked over to where Benia Nightshade stood with her cloak clutched tightly around her shoulders like a protective cocoon. Ferny licked his lips as a flurry of prurient thoughts flew through his mind. Finally, he sighed. If it weren't such a miserable night, he might have laid her down right then and there and seen about ripping into that little cocoon of hers, but the freezing rain and mud had gone a long way toward dampening his ardor. Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow when the sun is shining, I’ll find a place where there’s a cover of trees and perhaps a spot of warm grass...

Ferny jumped as white branch lightning tore the sky over his head, accompanied by a deafening crash of thunder. Cursing under his breath as the rain redoubled in its intensity, he reached out and gave Benia Nightshade a shove. They needed either to find shelter or keep moving, one of the two. No one could ever say that Barrold Ferny didn’t have enough sense to get out of the rain. But the blow had caught Benia by surprise. She lost her balance and slipped in the mud, landing on her knees.

"Get up!" roared Ferny, suddenly furious at the woman's clumsiness. He landed a sharp kick to her backside, which caused her to pitch forward. She caught herself from falling flat only by throwing her bound hands out in front of her. Still cursing, Ferny grabbed her by the base of her thick braid through her cloak and dragged her to her feet. Placing his face against her hooded cheek, he growled into her ear. "You’ll move if you want to live through the night."

Ferny released her with a push in the direction of east. "We need to reach the Anduin by dawn," he shouted at her over the roar of wind and rain. "We’ll ford the river by daylight."

He watched with satisfaction as her hood nodded submissively and she began to walk in the direction of the river and his ultimate destination of the Dale.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Gilly woke to the sound of staccato whispers close by her. It was dark and she could hear a rumbling thunder that broke through the rolling waves of rain. The hobbit had no idea how long she had been asleep, but felt damp and miserable, and considerably less tired. She found her eyes were stuck shut from tears shed before drifting off, and raised a hand to clear them as she lay listening to the conversation.

“Now?” an incredulous voice said. “In this dark?”

“I know where we are headed. We do not need much light.”

“But I could dress this nicely in no time at all, I promise you. We could use something to eat. Later maybe, when you feel we could spare a bit of a fire.” Gilly, tucked away in her den, smiled to hear that. Toby must have had some success looking for a meal.”

“No, we have not time,” Dúlrain pressed. “Quickly now, wake Mrs. Banks. We will leave at once.”

Lightening flashed. Gilly saw the ranger’s tall figure cross in front of the tree roots, and it was dark once again. “Mrs. Banks, Mrs. Banks!” Toby said, suddenly close by and shaking her shoulder. “You must wake up straightaway. It is time we set out once more.” She struggled to collect her thoughts, wondering if something had happened. Sitting up, Gilly crossed her arms over her stomach and asked the other hobbit why they were leaving when the storm seemed to have grown more furious, “I don’t know. He hasn’t said,” Toby replied to her questioning. “He only told me to wake you, and as soon as your up we’re off.’’

“Then I best get moving,” Gilly said, but Toby had already gone, leaving her alone in the hollow. The hobbit tried to remember those things she had cast aside as she lay down, her fingers moving to search the dirt for Benia’s sword. Finding it, she stood up stiffly and slung it over her shoulder before climbing out from under the sheltering roots.

Gilly jogged to where Toby stood at the ranger’s side. “What is wrong?” she asked as she drew up to them. “Something has gone wrong hasn’t it?” Dúlrain looked her way as thunder rumbled in the distance.

“It remains to be seen,” he said hurriedly, as he fastened his pack. “I have stumbled on something troubling, as I searched the way ahead.” He looked at Gilly. “Do not worry, there was no sign of Miss Nightshade there. But I fear it may have some bearing on her situation. We should not tarry here.” Gilly nodded.

The ranger led the small group south along the tree line and over a bluff, before turning eastward to more open country. Through wind and heavy rain they shortly came to a lone oak. It was there among the gnarled roots, the hobbits saw the remains of a small fire, where the ground beside the charred earth shone dark red in the flickering lightening. Gilly quickly turned away. But Dúlrain searched the ground around the tree carefully, “This is Barrold Ferny’s cursed work,” he said. “See his tracks clearly leading west again with the slain man’s horse, the same direction as he had come.”

“The murderous horse thief!” Gilly declared hotly.

“I can vouch for your assessment of him, Mrs. Banks. He is as vile as they get,” Toby agreed, before addressing Dúlrain. “Do you think he is really on his own then?” he asked.

“No. If that were the case I do not think he would have gone back by the same route. Naiore is after a horse. It would serve her well to have one, now that she has crossed over the mountains and the way lies open to the south. At this point we can only hope that the mud might serve to slow the poor beast down,” Dúlrain said.

“But only one horse?” Gilly broke in. “Can all three ride one?” Dúlrain did not answer her, but followed his own thoughts.

“Ferny was here not long ago. We have lost a good deal of time and must make haste,” he said walking up the incline. “Back up toward the trees” he directed. Toby and Gilly obeyed. With the thick mud, the hobbits struggled to keep pace with the ranger who guided them, but after a mile or so Dúlrain slowed and the hobbits had an easier time keeping abreast of him. The horse and rider he had been tracking had met with another pair of prints he told them, and the rider trailing the new prints. Gilly was relived to see Dúlrain point out several narrow ones filled high with rainwater. They looked the right size for Miss Benia.

But it was not long before Gilly found herself running once more, to keep up as Dúlrain raced ahead. It was a mile or more before the ranger stopped and she and Toby, skirting a patch of birches nearly passed him by in the darkness. He had stooped low waiting for another flash of light by which to read the signs before him. The paths she learned had diverged, Naiore’s heading south, but Benia and Barrold’s striking a more easterly course, down toward the Anduin. Fear gripped Gilly as the ranger stood up and looked down over the plains, hesitating which direction to take. She simply could not stay with Dúlrain and Toby if they choose to follow Naiore! She would follow Miss Benia alone if it came to that. They both knew that she had not come all this way to chase after rogue elves! She had a more important matter to tend to. But deep inside her bravado, she was frantic with worry. Worry that she would inded have to gone on her own, unaided.