Outracing the Flames RPG

[Nogrod]

Comforted by Dorran, Sythric fell in deep sleep. Towards the morning, his dreams got lighter, and eventually he was aware of people getting into that so familiar morning-hassle of a riding-camp. Then he heard Raedwald being mentioned.

He is dead! ... He is dead! Sythric managed to open his eyes, and saw a pyre being readied, Raedwald’s body was being hoisted on the top of it. Not the lance!, he yelled inside his mind, noting Raedwald’s lance beside the man at the pyre, as Brand was just about to lit the whole thing.

Sythric struggled himself up. The pain was there, yes it was, but Leod’s potions seemed to work. Half of his body was downright numb. It was a weird sensation to walk without feeling the left side of his body at all. And it was hard indeed, just keeping the balance that way. He has stuffed my side with some magic, I say..., he thought, as he pulled along with the others, surrounding the pyre.

He took his place in the ring around the fire beside Meghan and watched the flames consume the body of Raedwald. “Goodbye, dear friend”, he whispered in a low voice. He felt, that Meghan had heard him. Then he gazed the people around the pyre. It was a solemn moment, and everyone seemed to have gone deep inside themselves. Vaenosa was tightly bandaged and looked pale, Brand seemed to stay firm with pure willpower. There is a sturdy man! He could have made a rider indeed!, Sythric thought to himself, simultaneously eying the rest of the company.

Then his eyes settled back to the pyre. Raedwald’s body was already being eaten by the flames, turning black and charred. I will miss you, my friend. And curse it, I couldn’t be there to help you yesterday! But I had to take on those ones coming downhill – as they were the worst threat to us all, and I was there – and you were not... And I took Brand with me – and look at him now! We took the bruises, and you took to the eternity! You really had safeguarded those others, I just know it. It’s the way you did your part. Oh, how I miss you! Raedwald! He threw his gaze around the ring around the pyre once more with wetted eyes. These are just amazing people, the power of Rohan is in these young people, I have known it all the time! You were not alone, Raedwald! We are not alone, anyone of us! You helped to save them once, I have to be ready to do that again! He catched Vaenosa’s eyes and tried to smile comfortingly – probably failing altogether. She’s a spirited young lady. How good, I was there in time! But could have been earlier..., he thought, and continued by himself: I would surely prefer ten riders as a company, but as the things are, she is a real fighter – and these others too. I believe it now!

The movement he sensed from the corner of his eye brought him back to the present. Meghan had picked up her flute, and was staring at it intensely. Then she threw it to the flames. Sythric felt the tears bursting from his eyes, but fought back this time. He saw Meghan pulling her cloak around her, shivering, but not crying.

Sythric took the two steps needed to come by Meghan’s side and wrapped his right arm around her, pressing her tenderly against him. Meghan glanced at his eyes for a moment, full of sorrow, and then turned her gaze to the pyre again. Then they just stood there, in silence.

Eventually the people started to disperse from the pyre, but Sythric and Meghan remained still. They just stood there, Sythric having his arm around Meghan, and Meghan just gently leaning to him. They didn’t need any words, as they felt the sharing of the same anguish, together.

“We’ll make you a new one”, Sythric whispered to Meghan’s ear, “He would have appreciated it.” He squeezed her shoulder lightly: “You know he would have. You’ll just have to play once more to his memory, one day.” With that he let go his hold and turned to face her. “Be brave my girl. We both have suffered a great loss, but for his sake, we will have to continue.” He tried a smile again, and felt again having missed the intended effect. He slowly turned away to go back to his bedroll.

The pain was back, as he kneeled to collect his things from the ground. He grasped them anyway, biting his lip not to yell from the pain. He walked to Thydrë and started to pack her up. Suddenly he turned around, facing most of the others, and declared in all the voice he had. “I’m going to ride with you today, but if I’m dropping behind you during the ride, just keep going, don’t hesitate to continue. I can take care of myself, if needs be. And if someone else is falling behind, we might make it together. The mission is now the first thing we have, the thing that counts. We wounded can be left behind in a need.” With that he turned back to continue with his packing, finding out, that certain movements just burst his side with a pain too strong to deal with – and so he had to make pauses as he packed Thydrë, trying to hoist and tie things on her without his left hand. I could do with some of that medicine of Leod’s. If for nothing else, then just to ease the pain, he thought to himself. Suddenly he turned again towards the others. “Oh, and collect every useful item those dead easterlings bore with them. I’m sorry, but I can’t be of help with that now.”

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Fire claimed the body of their fallen comrade; a companion murdered by the fell blows of an enemy far greater than a small company could ever hope to surpass. A war was coming, but for now there was a greater fear undertone. One had been claimed, body to ashes. As far and fast as they had come, they had not yet escaped the flames.

Ashes.

Fire had claimed the village. And now fire had claimed the body of Raedwald. And Eostre had no heart to cry even after she had stared into the heat of those flames to glance away and blink eyes into the dimmer lights with white overriding. She couldn't. How could she?

And now that the flames dimmed, and most had left the pyre's side, things were a strange sort of silent. They would leave soon. In the meantime, there were bodies to search; perhaps there were things left to scavage from the corpses. Weapons, perhaps gold or rope; even clothing might almost have been of use to the rumpled party in some ways.

Edoras had to arrive soon, before more people were murdered.

[Folwren]

Athwen had wept. The tears had come silently, quick, and unstoppable. She didn’t know why. She hadn’t known him for real. She had been acquainted with him for a couple days, but that was all. . .nothing past a common acquaintance.

And now, as they waited until they could continue, the tears were dried, but a deep, heavy sadness settled over her like a wet cape. She couldn’t shake it and it weighed her down until she felt like she wanted to cry again, just to relieve herself of the pressure. But she didn’t. She drew a shuddering breath instead, rose to her feet and went to her horse.

‘I don’t know how long it will be until we leave, lad,’ she said, running her hand up his neck and then placing it on his head. He looked at her and allowed her to put both her arms around his face, cradling him near her chest. ‘I want to ride you now,’ she whispered. ‘I want to run. Gallop. Flee all this.’ She glanced over her shoulder and watched for a moment as Leod dealt out care to one of the wounded. ‘Maybe we can.’ She let her arms drop and then went for his saddle and blankets. She had him saddled in a matter of minutes. ‘They won’t be ready for some time now,’ she told herself as she tightened the girth and turned the stirrup back down. ‘I’ll hardly be missed. Everything is already packed up. All that needs to be done is preparing the horses. I’ll be back by the time they’re finished. . .’ She held the bridle in her hand and slipped the bit into Parith’s mouth. ‘We’ll go for a short run, lad, down at the bottom of the hill.’

Without looking behind her for fear of someone catching her eyes and asking questions, Athwen began to lead Parith out from beneath the trees. She would mount him in the open and then ride back down the hill. There was a straight place beneath, long enough to enjoy the run, but not so long that Parith would loose his breath or become tired in the sprint. She ached to feel the wind of speed in her face. That, at least, would be just like it used to be.

[Farael]

Osmod had help to set up the funeral pyre and to place Rædwald on top of it. It was not a job he relished, but it was the least he could do for such a good man. He could not, however, be the one to lit fire to the wood. He thought about volunteering himself but a sudden bout anguish stopped him short. What he had done so far and his prayers would have to suffice. As the pyre was lit, Osmod thought a silent prayer for his fallen friend, asking the gods to let him into the halls of those who had died with honour. Perhaps Rædwald had not been a great general nor he had won many battles, but he had fallen trying to protect a friend and that was just as important. Generals may win wars, but men like Rædwald were true heroes.

After Rædwald funeral was done, it was time to go back down the hill to search the bodies. Something useful may have been gathered from there. Osmod felt sorry for the fallen, now that the heat of the battle had worn off. They were men just as him, not those beastly orcs. He wondered, while picking up a shield that seemed to be in good state, whether they would be forgiven by the gods. Maybe they didn’t know any better.

Weary and still aching, he made his way back to the camp. He had only gathered a shield and a waterskin, as his had been punctured by a lance. He looked at his horse’s wounds quickly but decided to keep him saddled. They would probably be leaving shortly anyway.

Walking over to Brand he asked him in a low tone of voice.

“I know I have not been acting much as a leader, not with Sythric bossing me around anyway, but I still feel responsible for my group of riders. And well… even if we just met I feel responsible for you all as well.”

He shifted his weight around, feeling slightly uncomfortable disclosing his thoughts to a stranger.

“ I know we must make haste, but any success we may find at the Golden Hall will be marred if we loose one of our group to exhaustion or if we ride ourselves to the ground. We can’t leave anyone behind with the Easterlings still prowling around, but let those of us who are healthy take the lead. The rest can follow as fast as they can manage.”

Searching through his saddlebag, Osmod produced his family’s horn. He had forgotten about it during the skirmish.

“Take this if you want, to alert us of any danger that may befall you. Perhaps Leod and Meghan can stay with you to help should anyone’s wounds worsen. Eostre, Dorran, Fion and I will ride ahead and we’ll have the night’s camp ready for when you arrive. I know it is our duty to make to Edoras as fast as we can, but by chance or destiny we have been forced to deal with adversity. Death prowls close, Brand, she will take each of us if we give her a chance.”

[piosenniel]

Tevildo's post

"Sythric!" After the ceremony in front of the bier, Leod walked over to the injured man and tapped him gently on the shoulder, adding in a soft voice, "I don't like that look on your face. I wish there was some other way we could manage. By rights, you should be spending today in your bedroll and doing nothing more strenuous than lifting a spoon to your mouth to feed yourself. Still, we must be off. And staying here in the woods isn't a good idea when there are roving bands of Orcs and Easterlings about. Take this before you mount up." The healer handed his patient a small packet of herbs. "Just add it to a hot beverage. It will cut down on the pain in your side. But truthfully you're still going to feel something. If I give you too large a dose, the pain will be gone but you'll be falling asleep in the saddle and risk plunging down to the forest floor."

"One other thing," Leod added. "If your side starts bleeding heavily, you must tell me. I've tightened and readjusted the bandages. I only hope it's enough."

In the next hour, Leod quietly made the rounds of camp to give each of his patients a final check. He found Vaenosa's wounds especially troubling. Like Sythric, she should probably be spending the day in bed. Even Brand could stand with some more rest. But it would be utterly useless to ask the young man to delay their departure any longer. Though quiet and modest, Brand could also be amazingly stubborn. The blunt fact was that the trip had taken longer than expected. One way or another, they needed to get going and make a forced march to Edoras, even if it was hard on those who had been injured.

Leod cast one last look at the pyre which now lay silent, its red-gold flames reduced to no more than smouldering embers. It was a symbol to him of defeat: a good man gone who should have lived. Curse these crazy times! When would men learn to live in peace? It was a question to which he had no answer. And seeing that he could not control the behavior of Orcs or men from the east, the next best thing was surely to get on the road and offer a word of warning, both to benefit the good folk of Edoras and those who would be fleeing from the outer villages seeking the safety of strong walls. Impatiently, he stalked up and down the camp, eager to be on his way.

[Arry]

Brand had listened carefully to Leod’s concerns. And had nearly made up his mind that the group should push on despite the injuries its members had sustained. He could not see the value in leaving the badly wounded, barely mended, behind just to get a messenger or two to the Golden Hall. There were simply not enough of the able left to make a good defense if some were sent off.

Now Osmod had offered a compromise – several of the more able riders would scout ahead for any sign of trouble and in an effort to get a good, defensible campsite set up for the injured.

‘I’ll take the horn you’ve offered, Osmod,’ he said, reaching out his hand. ‘It’s a good idea, I think. Go ahead and let the others who you want to ride with you know of the plan. I would like you to leave soon. Leod and I will bring the others along at a slower pace after you’ve gone.’ He paused for a moment, considering the group as a whole. ‘Why don’t you see if Athwen wants to go, also. She might like that.’

Brand nodded to Osmod and took his leave. Leod, he thought, with a wry smile, would most likely support the plan. The old fellow could keep an eye on him, as he knew he wanted to do. Brand took a deep breath and flexed his shoulders a little to ease the stiffness. The wound in his left shoulder gave him a definite and painful reminder he was still not at his best.

[Folwren]

Athwen let Parith pick his way carefully down the muddy slope of the hill. She avoided that place where the battle was fought the evening before, passing it some distance to the right. She came to a stop where the ground became level and while Parith showed his eagerness to run by turning himself in a wide circle, she studied the land to see where would be the best way to run. Then she brought Parith to a stand still. He lifted his head , scenting the air with widened nostrils. And then he pawed the ground and his head bobbed down and then back up again. Athwen smiled.

‘Go,’ she whispered. ‘Run. Run until the wind whistles in our ears.’

The horse needed no other bidding. With a fierce neigh he plunged forward, leaping immediately into a wild gallop. Athwen bent forward towards his neck until the flying black mane swept her face. The wind made her eyes water, but she kept them open and fixed between his ears.

She wanted to run on and on, allowing Parith to gallop until his feet led them back to their home, the way every horse would. But she didn’t let him run for quite a quarter of a mile. She stopped him abruptly and he slid to a halt. They stood there, then, as still as a statue. Their eyes turned towards where home once was, Parith with his head up, his neck arched, and nostril’s quivering, Athwen sitting upright, the wind gently stirring the damp curls about her face.

With a imperceptible sigh, Athwen lowered and turned her head. Her hands moved slowly as she pulled the reins over Parith’s neck. She felt the reluctance in her steed as he moved his shoulders but lingered with his face towards the East. Finally, he too turned his head away.

They only walked back towards the hill on which the company awaited. Not once did Athwen turn to look back. Her face was set forward and she had made up her mind never to look back. A single tear escaped. One tear to represent the untouchable, unregainable past.

~ ~ ~

Athwen reached the crest of the hill where the others were still waiting in little over ten minutes. At the outskirts of the camp, she slipped silently off of her horse and drooped his reins over a hanging branch. She left him standing and went towards the others, wondering if they had decided if it was time to continue yet, and if not, how long until they were ready.

[Farael]

Osmod gathered the able-bodied riders around the fire and spoke to them. He explained the necessity of balancing their need for haste as well as trying to make sure they did not loose any of the wounded to exhaustion. Athwen, Dorran and Leod, whom at last seemed content about his work with the wounded, were there from one group, as well as Eostre, Fion and Osmod himself from the other. As Osmod said his words, Leod wondered out loud whom would be there to look after the wounded. With a nod, Osmod agreed that he would need to stay and suggested Meghan did so too. He was about to add Athwen’s name to the list of those who would stay yet remembering Brand’s words he did not.

At last it was decided that Osmod would lead Dorran, Eostre, Fion and Athwen as scouts to search through the road ahead and prepare a good defensible camp for the night, while the wounded, Leod and Meghan followed at a slower pace. The scouts readied their horses and rode off almost at once. As they were leaving the camp behind Osmod asked his companions to group up and spread out. Two would ride further to the left and two would ride to the right. Osmod would keep the middle, always making sure the other scouts were within shouting distance. He knew it would be most efficient to spread out even more yet he did not want to risk the enemy to pick them off one by one.

The groups separated and Osmod smiled at Fion as he headed towards one of the flanks. The young man had stayed back during the fight, engaging only those Easterlings who were threatening the other riders and he had done so well. He was a brave young man. And then there was Athwen. Osmod was not sure she would be able to cope with any more adversity, but it was a chance they would have to take. He figured, as Brand had probably done before, that it would be best for her if she was kept busy, her mind looking ahead rather than brooding on past misfortune.

[Folwren]

Athwen looked after Dorran, shaking her head a little at his shy way of going on. She smiled a small, faint smile and nudged her horse into a faster pace and once more pulled along Dorran. For a while, she rode in silence, thinking on what he had said to her.

Creide sounded nice. Grown up for her age, no doubt, but that was only in her favor, so long as she wasn’t too grown up. Athwen wondered slightly if she had lost her childhood dreams and feelings. She could not blame her for it if she had. Dorran was a nice brother, too. It was very kind of him to want to buy something for his sister. She smiled again at the thought. She could just imagine him looking at what there was to be bought with wide eyes of wonder. She had heard stories of Edoras from her older brother and sister, a couple years ago, when one of them had gotten to go with their father to the great city. But that was a long time ago, it seemed. Things might have changed now. They probably had, what with wars going on.

Athwen quickly turned her mind away from the thoughts that came with the word ‘war’. Dorran had asked her if she might go with him to pick something out. She had to admit to herself that she would probably be just as useless in a large market place as he. She knew how to buy vegetables and cloth from the small market that Skyfold had had, or to buy them off of traveling pedlars who passed every now and again. But in her mind’s eyes, Athwen was imagining Edoras to be thick with merchants, all selling numerous items, all as beautiful as the next, and she thought she’d never be able to make any choices quickly.

They had to make it to Edoras first, though. Ah, yes. To reach their journey’s end. Athwen sighed heavily and then thanked the noise of the horse’s hooves for not allowing Dorran to hear it. With so many wounded, would they be able to reach it in any short time? And the longer they were out in the open, the more chances they had of being attacked again. Would they ever be able to succeed? Yes, they must succeed. One of them must. To bring word to the king, to prevent more villages to meet the same end as hers, and to save the people. The only way to reach the city quickly was to progress quickly. . .

A thought entered her head which made Athwen smile more broadly than she had in days. She looked at Dorran and then brought Parith closer to his horse’s side.

‘I’ll bet you anything I can beat you in a race,’ she said, breaking the silence between them abruptly. She stood up in the stirrups to stand above the saddle so that she could talk clearly and steadily as she looked at Dorran. She posed quite a mischievous picture just then, an impish smile on her face, her hair loose and fluttering behind her on the wind of Parith’s speed, and her eyes glittering with the thought of another, faster run than earlier. ‘Of course, your horse is carrying more than mine. Can’t we stop and even it out a bit? It won’t take long, and the gallop will make up for it. Please?’

[Nogrod]

“The death of the Easterling does not give me concern, Master Sythric. He was no man that I should upset myself with his death. He was worse than a beast...” Brand’s words echoed in Sythric’s mind. He was not totally aware of everything Brand had said, but catched a piece from here and there. And disagreed with him. “I know most likely he thought the same as I . . . that is, that had he succeeded in killing me there would be no remorse on his part . . .” Why do you want to make yourself to resemble that twisted image you have made of your enemies?We are people and they are people. But if you want to find a difference, how about we being the ones who know remorse, who can feel and understand? And at least some of them can too... I know it. But then he was hit with an unbearably hard pain. Before he passed away, he felt Brand’s strong arms trying to grasp him. Their going had halted. Meghan was there, and Leod too.

There was the face of the young easterling, not much older than Dorran. He had just thrusted his spear through Bletric who had attacked him. And there, in the middle of the frantic battle, Sythric caught his eyes, filled with terror and anguish, just bewildered about what had happened, realizing what he had done. Sythric had killed the youngster just the following moment, almost actually riding over him. The lad’s terror of killing someone the first time had immediately changed to the shock of realizing his own death. So fragile is the life of man...

And there were lots of images, lots of voices in his head. They were about death. There were his companions dying, there were people he had killed: bandits and easterlings as well. There was his grand-uncle and grandfather. But then there was his little sister, Winlan, who died at the age of five. He was then only 9 and his big brother Swithulf was 11. Her screams of pain filled Sythric’s head and he was suddenly back to the night she died.

She had had rising temperatures for some days. She didn’t eat, and all the more frequently she had cried for her pains. The healer had been there and done what she could. On the last evening, she had started to have attacks that bursted her to infernal screaming. And they got worse towards the night. That was the most haunting voice Sythric had ever heard. His dear sister, just a child as he was himself, crying and yelling in anguish and pain. Why she had to be in that kind of pain? What was it? There was such a terror in her voice – and her gaze between the attacks – that even now, just remembering it, Sythric started to shudder physically in his makeshift sledge. Her eyes had been praying for help, and he had just felt so insignificant there, so insufficient, not knowing how to help the little sister who begged them all to end that pain.

The healer had finally arrived at the dead of the night. Sythric remembered, that they had been ordered out from the room Winlan was lying in. Only their mother had been allowed to stay. His father walked around the floor quietly and silently, looking downwards. Sythric and Swithulf sat at the bench by the wall, holding each others hands and sobbing quietly, not daring to look anywhere but their own feet. Winlan was howling in torturous pain and anguish. Suddenly it became silent for a second. Then they heard their mother starting to howl with a different, but as shrilling a voice. From the corner of the hall, their grandmother started to cry too. Their father stopped his slow walking. As he in the end turned his look towards the brothers, the tears were slowly gathering in the corner of his eye and his chin had just started to tremble. He was clearly intending to addres the two big brothers, but they didn’t stay to hear it. Sythric and Swithulf ran out of the house into the darkness of the latesummer night.

They had run wildly down the hill in the stillness of the night, outside the house of the horror, and reached the small stream running beside the fields. From some unspoken agreement, they had both jumped into the water and just dived. The softness of the water surrounded them tenderly, and as they ceased moving, the soothing quietness of the water was all around them. Every once in a while they had to surface to breathe more air to their lungs, but then they went down again into that mellow nothingness of the underwater reality. Sythric nine years old, Swithulf two years older. Two little boys in grief, finding comfort from the cooling waters. Eventually they heard their father calling for them and came out from the water. But they were not going back to that house any more. After sitting by the stream for a while, they heard their father coming down the hill. He had some light provisions for the all of them and something to make a fire with. They didn’t utter a word that night, anyone of the three. But they built a fire, ate a little, and then slept under the starry sky: father and his two sons, all broken down with grief and anguish. It was only after Winlan had been buried, that the two boys came to sleep inside the house again.

A bit larger bump brought Sythric back to reality. Now also his back was hurting, not the least because of that last one. That had to be a rock or something. Good earth this pain!, but this last was in reference to his side. He tried carefully to feel about his side. Clearly he had some ribs broken, but he had also started to bleed again. He was about to call for Leod, but then thought otherwise. I’m slowing them down enough already. We’ll see it tonight as we make camp. I’ll make it to that – I know I will. Carefully Sythric tried to tighten the bandages around him, but had no mentionable success in it, as he could only use his right arm, and was speeding on in a makeshift sledge over some harsh ground.

[Folwren]

Athwen approached Osmod slowly from behind. He sat beside his rolled bedding, bending over the neatly bandaged hand. She felt sorry for him, but at the same time, couldn’t help feeling some impulse to laugh. How on earth had he managed to do it?

‘How does it feel?’ she asked in an undertone. He looked up quickly and moved a little bit to face her. She stepped back so that he didn’t have to crane his neck up so far to talk.

‘Fine. Just a bit hot. Why don’t you sit down?’ He motioned with his unburnt hand, but she shook her head.

‘I won’t sit. Thanks, though.’ She paused a moment. ‘I don’t quite believe you on that fine part. Leod’s sent you to bed, hasn’t he?’ There was a short pause, then Osmod nodded slowly. ‘I was thinking. . .actually, could I take first watch?’ The young man looked hesitant. ‘Please?’ Athwen pressed eagerly. ‘I’ve not done anything to help in ages, really. No, cooking dinner hardly counts. Let me stay up and watch. It’s a fine night and everyone else is tired. You’ve just burned your hand and gotten explicit orders to go to bed. I’ll be sure to wake you or Dorran or Fion if anything happens. Please let me stay up.’

[Farael]

Osmod’s hand ached and throbbed. In spite of what the healer had said, he felt as if he had sunk his hand on a nest of wasps and then shaken it for good measure.

Athwen had asked to be given the first watch, to which Osmod had reluctantly agreed. He knew the girl needed to be busy to keep her mind away from the sad memories and yet Osmod did not feel comfortable putting that much responsibility on Athwen’s shoulders. She had proven herself and there was no doubt she would do her job as good as anyone else. Yet it was impossible to tell when the next trouble would arise and Osmod could only hope it would not be during Athwen’s watch. He walked to the trees near the camp to relieve himself and on the way back he kneeled just outside the circle of light projected by the fire and drew another of his signs. He prayed that it would keep them safe for the night and out of trouble. Then, he went back to his bedroll, after exchanging a few words with Athwen. He asked her to wake him up first should anything happen and not to hesitate. He doubted he would be sleeping much that night anyway.

But he was wrong. It seemed that he had just laid down when a sudden darkness took over his mind and he drifted into uncomfortable dreams. He would remember none of them, but the sad feeling would not go away, even after the sunrise.

[Arry]

In the first of day's light . . .

Brand’s mind slipped farther and farther away from the pain, to a place of rest. A cool place . . . a place in fact where he could move about freely. He slipped out from beneath his blankets and stood up. It was quiet, the fire had burned down to a few embers. Someone moved about the outskirts of the camp. Incana he thought, by her cloak and height.

Ah, good, they keep a watch . . .

Meghan was asleep, curled on her right side. In the moonlight he could see her eyelids flutter as dreams played behind them. And there was Sythric, the old war-horse a little ways beyond her. Behind where Brand stood, lay Osmod, and his face seemed set with sadness. There were others, too, sleeping in the near dawn.

His attention, though, was called away from all of them. From across the camp, someone was up and waving at him to follow. In the first fingers of light that crept westward the tall slender figure turned and moved toward the east. A fleeting, almost phantom shape slipping away beneath the bare-limbed trees.

The person turned briefly as if to see if he followed, and noting that he did hurried on. In the momentary glimpse, Brand saw it was Vaenosa. And for a moment he paused, his breath quickly drawn in at the sight of her.

How can this be? he wondered as his steps quickened to close the distance between them.

There she was . . . he could see her long, hay colored hair catch the light. Strands of it escaped the hood of her cape and floated behind her in the early morning’s breeze.

And yet, who was this who lay so still near his feet. Her delicate face was slack in repose and limp gold curls lay about the edges of it. Blue eyes stared up into the pale waking blue of the day . . . dull and sightless now, they offered him no reflection as he looked into them.

Wait! Wait! he called aloud to the disappearing woman. Wait! Where are you going?

Brand felt pulled after Vaenosa. He hurried toward her.

In the growing distance behind him he heard someone call his name . . . an indistinct sound that tickled at the edges of his consciousness and was easily shrugged away . . .

‘Brand!’ the voice called louder and now it seemed a hand was laid on him tugging at him, slowing his steps.

Wait! he called again to the lengthening shadows beneath the trees. He could no longer see her. I want to come with you! Wait!

Brand struggled to free himself from the hands and voices that held him back . . .

[Undómë]

She was sleeping only lightly, much as she would do when in the summer pastures with her flock. And it was not a noise that woke her but rather the absence of such . . . the heavy quiet.

For most of the night she had heard Brand’s breathing and the ragged gasps as he tried to turn one way or another beneath his blankets. The sounds, too, of his blankets as he pushed them up or down, or as he scrunched the small cloth bag stuffed with a few shirts beneath his head, a lumpy pillow at best.

But now there were no little movements . . . and unless she strained her ears she could barely hear his breathing.

Meghan jumped to her feet, closing the short distance between herself and Brand in a few quick steps. She knelt down beside him, watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest. And often between breaths was a long silent space.

His hair and pillow were drenched. Most likely from another fever that had come upon him. But as she touched his face, pale beneath his tan, the fever had fled and a grim chilliness remained. She brushed back some damp curls from his cheeks.

‘Brand!’ she called aloud to him, shaking his arm. When there was no response she took his limp hand and chafed it between her two, trying to drive some warmth back into him. ‘Brand! Wake up!’

There was no response to her plea. She grew more alarmed.

‘Leod, Come quickly!’ she called out loudly.

[Folwren]

The sound of a voice woke Athwen before dawn had completed itself. She squinted up at the swiftly brightening and sky and wondered if she really did have to get up quite yet. She had watched for the first hour last night and when she thought she could not possibly keep her eyes open any longer she had gone and woken Osmod. After a shamefaced admittance that she had only watched for an hour but felt too tired to stay awake any longer, she’d gone to bed. Now as she woke to the morning she felt as though for once, since her village was burned, that she could sleep longer. But that wasn’t to be. The ground was lumpy and the birds were calling, and they should be on their way as soon as possible anyhow.

With a prodigious great yawn, she sat up and stretched. Then she looked about, ready to greet anybody available with a merry good morning. But there was no one available. Incana was on watch - she could see her out in the woods - Meghann was bent over Brand, looking worried and distraught, and the others still slept. It must have been Meaghan’s voice that had woken Athwen, and she felt herself go cold suddenly and without explanation. The good humour she had awoken in retreated and hid and a strange fear slowly filled her, like a small, trickling stream slowly fills a pool of rock. She pushed the blankets off of herself and stood up.

She started across the camp to go to Meghan and see if something was wrong, and if there was, if she could help. Her steps led her beside the sleeping forms of the other two wounded companions - Vaenosa and Sythric. She looked at them as she passed. Sythric seemed to still sleep as well as anyone might except but Vaenosa. . .

One glance at the young woman’s face showed Athwen that something was wrong. She quickly turned and knelt beside her and reached out her hand to touch her face.

‘She’s cold!’ The words leaped out in a startled, high voice, and her hand jerked back. A tremor ran through her body and then she touched her again. She reached for Vaenosa’s hand and felt for a pulse. There was nothing. ‘Is she dead?’ she whispered. She could certainly feel her own heart pumping hard against her ribs, but the body beside hers was still. Still and so cold. Tears came to her eyes. ‘Dead?’

A movement to her right caused her to raise her head. Meghan had gotten up to her feet and she looked scared. Athwen stared up at her.

‘She’s dead?’ Meghan asked, indicating Vaenosa with a swift, downward glance of her eyes. Athwen nodded mutely, unable to speak immediately. ‘Brand is not well, either. I think. . .’she stopped and changed her course. ‘Where is Leod?’

Athwen turned her head the other way and her eyes swept the place where he should have slept. ‘I don’t know,’ her voice said, trembling. ‘I don’t know where he is, or if he ever returned from last night. He left at the very beginning of the night - he didn’t tell me where, but I thought he’d be back. He probably had to find some more plants to help him. . .but he’s not - he’s not back.’ Her voice failed her altogether then and even if she had wanted to say anything further, she couldn’t have. Vaenosa was dead, Brand was seemed to be leaving, and Leod was gone. Would they loose all of the ones who had been wounded?

[Tevildo]

Leod lay unmoving on the ground not more than eight feet away from where the Elves were still talking. He was careful to remain motionless and tuck his head under the blanket they had given him. Underneath that cover, he could hear every word they were saying.

Last night, he had not known how to explain why he was wandering alone in the woods in the middle of the night. Looking back, he could not help but feel that it was very foolish of him to go out so far on his own, even if his need for the herbs was great. Now all he wanted to do was to protect his friends from these strange and regale creatures who were so well armed and seemingly filled with anger and suspicion. Leod had admitted to one of the Elves, a woman who had questioned him closely, that he was a healer and had gone out at night to search for the lichens that are so good in drawing out ill humors from a wound. He totally denied that he was with anyone else even after she pressed him further. She had given him a strange look and walked away.

Now that he had heard what his fate was to be, Leod did not know whether to be happy or sad. At least they had decided not to skewer him in two. But his spirits sank down to this toes as he heard that he was to be carted off to the north and let go in the middle of nowhere, many miles from his friends and the injured men and women who so desperately needed him. He simply could not accept that.

As he listened to Nevtaliel speak, a desperate plot hatched in his mind. This woman, at least, was not his enemy. Leod did not know much about Elves, had never seen one in his life, but he did know that their healers were said to possess amazing skills, far beyond the reach of mortal men.

Gathering every bit of courage that he had, Leod leapt to his feet and turned to face the Elves. "The woman is right. I am a healer, but I am also a terrible liar. My friends are camped no more than two miles from here. They are no brigands, just common folk from several villages miles north of here. One of those villages, the one that I call my home, was burned down by a pack of roving Orcs, every person in it slain but myself and one other young girl."

"We are trying to get through to Edoras to warn the King that the Orcs have begun a rampage through the countryside, and he and his Riders must stand against them, if any of us are to survive. My own folk are gravely injured. When you found me, I was trying to search for the medicine that might save them. My supplies are gravely low. We had spent the last few days fighting Orcs and Easterlings, and many were afflicted with grievous wounds. To be honest, I was a fool to leave camp. I do not even know if these wounded men and women can survive, but without me they have absolutely no chance. Already, they are burning up with fever and half out of their minds."

"Please, sirs and madame, I am not the like of you but my folk mean much to me. I have heard that Elves have wonderful ways with a healing hand. I can take you to our camp that lies no more than a few miles upstream. Perhaps you can help those who are sick and injured. Meanwhile, as we approach the camp, you may keep your knife trained on my throat. If I have lied about any of these things, slash my throat and let me fall and die. Please, great Elves, if you have any mercy, will you come and help my friends?"

Nevtaliel stooped to pick up her bag of herbs and remedies, and glanced over towards Haekanoion. He said nothing but quickly nodded his head in assent. Within a moment, all had retrieved their horses, and were cantering briskly along the bank of the stream, with Leod sitting behind one of the riders. Despite his offer, there was no knife trained upon his throat.

[Undómë]

Setting off after the first group...

While Leod saw to the wounds of those who would be traveling in the slower group, Meghan and Incana made sure the horses were packed and ready to go. And when they were, Incana held their mounts steady as Meghan lent a hand to Sythric and to Vaenosa.

Lady, Meghan could see, was attempting to hold as still as she could while Brand figured out how to mount up by himself, with his one good arm. Meghan winced as she saw him clamber up, his left arm having to assist him anyway to maintain his balance. His face was pale when he sat up at last, his lips set hard in a line. But he soon regained a measure of calmness and she was relieved that she saw no blood beginning to stain his tunic. Still, she thought, she would ask Leod to see to his dressing.

She fell to the back of the line as they made their unhurried way from the hilltop camp. Vaenosa and Incana rode along together just in front of her. The three men were strung out, not too far distant from each other or from the women, at the head of the little column.

Meghan wrapped her cloak about her against the early morning’s chill. ‘Well, Ash,’ she murmured to the grayish mare. ‘We’re on our way again. And the Fates willing, we will reach the Golden Hall soon.’ She patted the horse on the side of her neck, cautioning her in a low voice to be cautious as she picked her way down the hillside . . .

[Folwren]

Athwen was thankful that she didn’t have to ride back, slowly, with the wounded. Had she been appointed the position of staying with them, she would have obeyed without question or murmur, but to ride ahead, running, trotting, cantering at will, or going slowly and gently when necessary, seemed in itself to comfort her. She didn’t know how, nor why, but it did.

She was riding to Osmod’s right, and Dorran was her companion. They rode parallel with each other with a couple yards’ lengths in between. At first, they were silent as they rode forward, sobered by the morning funeral, and (at least on Athwen’s part) dampened by the grey sky. But, as the morning passed on, the clouds began to break apart and blue could be glimpsed here and there. Long streams of sunlight poured down and the world was brightened in their eyes.

Athwen looked up and her hope rose upon seeing the clean, bright light. She glanced sideways towards Dorran and then closed the space between them to a few feet.

‘You don’t think we’ll be meeting any more Easterling’s do you? I’m not sure how many were left by the time they finally left us alone. Do you know?’

‘There weren’t very many, I don’t believe,’ Dorran answered. Athwen paused a moment. She didn’t really want to pursue that topic. There were other things to talk about, and one thing in particular was pressing in Athwen’s mind.

‘Dorran,’ she said, slowly and half timidly. ‘Tell me about your sister. You said she and you were the only ones to escape after. . .after that. I would like to know what she’s like.’

[Tevildo]

Leod had decided to ride his horse at the back of the line. He was more interested in keeping an eye on the riders to make sure that none of them were encountering any trouble than in leading the group or even watching out for dangers along the trail. He would leave that job to others. Even with the slow pace there was a chance that one of their number would find the ride on horseback too difficult to bear.

Leod reminded himself to say something to Brand about his dressing. He had managed to check everyone that morning: to change most of the bandages and to dole out the salves and potions that the wounded would need for the morning trek. But Brand had been so intent on making sure that the two groups got organized and started that Leod had not had a chance to do anything more for him than making sure that the bleeding hadn't started again. He would insist that Brand let him change the dressing at the first place they stopped along the trail.

Leod was grateful to Osmod for his idea about splitting the group as well as to Brand who'd at least had the good sense to go along with the plan that was suggested. It was a far better idea than racing the wounded relentlessly along the path or simply leaving them behind in the woods. Leod wondered if Brand had found it difficult to admit he was one of those who might need a bit of help. In any case, the young man had taken his place among the wounded with a modicum of good grace and not let false pride get in the way of making a good decision. Tough times were not what anyone would choose, but sometimes difficult circumstance pulled out the best in a person and taught them things about themselves they might otherwise never had leaned.

But what about his own situation? What was he to do when their trek was over? His village was gone, his neighbors lying under the soft earth, yet his own life continued on. It was the first time that Leod had considered what might happen at the end of the journey. Times seemed to be going from bad to worse. It was possible that a healer's skills might be of some use to the Riders and those who defended Edoras. Or should be set out with one of the villages when they decided to resettle and rebuild their homes? But who knows when that might be, or even if they would want someone as grumpy as himself coming along to lend a hand. He would need to think on it and perhaps see what others hand in mind before making his decision. There would be time enough for that at the end of this journey. Just let him get all of the wounded to Edoras alive and in one piece, and he would worry about the other later.