Outracing the Flames RPG

[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.

[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.

[Nogrod]

The forward group had left, and slowly the slower ones got on the move also. The air was crisp, but not so moist as it had been yesterday. Cool day, predicting a winter coming in. Leod had given Sythric another dose of his potion, and he felt the warmth of it still clearly in his body. Sythric looked around. Ragged band of injured patients! What an impression we will give out at the Kings hall!, he thought, but then saw Brand riding in the front of the party. He‘s having tough times too... Maybe I should? He spurred Thydrë to take on Brand and Lady. Brand noted Sythric coming to his side and nodded to him.

“You could make a good rider, master Brand! You did very well yesterday”, Sythric said to him, getting his attention. “You were very brave indeed.” Brand seemed to nod in appreciation of Sythric’s appraisal, but he wasn’t sure, what Brand thought of it in the end. For a while they rode in silence.

“Brand? I know you are carrying some grave thoughts with you. I don’t know how numerous they are, but I just thought, that I could try to help you out with one of them...” He looked at Brand, who turned his face towards him, waiting for him to continue. At the same time, Sythric was thinking fervently, how to put his words in the right way.

“Well... Killing a man is not easy. I mean, it might be “easy” in a fight, when you just act on your instincts, just going about like a beast defending yourself. And in this sense, some enemies are easier to kill than the others.” He made a small pause, gazing forwards, just to see the last scout, Athwen? to leave his field of vision.

“But there is another kind of bravery, that is required after the battle” he said, looking at Brand again. “I have killed seven men before yesterday – I do not keep a count of the orcs. So it seems to be nine now... my tally, I mean...” He went quiet again for a while, but then continued: “But believe it or not, I can remember all of them, quite clearly indeed. I remember, how they died. Of most of them, I also remember, how they looked, how they were, as they realized that they were dying... A dying man, the one suddenly realizing to die... You can see that in his eyes. And those eyes have haunted me ever since. Those last sights of someone dying by your hand will follow you too. They will penetrate your dreams, they will just pop up unexpectedly in between your everyday hassle. They will not let you to choose the hour of their arrival: they just come and go. They will be a part of you, whether you want it or not.”

Sythric looked at Brand carefully. His expression did not reveal any agitation or disturbance, but still Sythric believed, there was a storm inside. He decided to press his point to the end, before asking Brand about his feelings. “You probably met them last night? I have always seen those eyes the night after a fight. I did so last night too, in the middle of the fever I got through. I’m sorry to say this, but they will not leave you. You may forget a casual acquaintance, but you will never forget a person you have killed.” He paused for a moment, just looking around him. The party was moving along quite fast, being the “slow party”, but still its speed was far from what it could have been. Sythric cursed his wound – and felt it again! It was so painful. For a moment Sythric just saw blackness, and bright stars going around the darkness. In the end he managed to control himself, and addressed Brand once more.

“That’s something you just have to accept, my friend. By taking someone’s life, you kind of take him with you, to yourself. The more you try to fight it, the more those you’ve killed will haunt you. And in a way, that’s just right. It makes you ask the real questions: how do I live my life? Why am I alive and not him? He might have helped a poor man in his need, so what shall I do? He could have loved his near relations, but how do I treat mine? And so on...”.

Sythric took a swift gaze to Brand, and then spelled out his last thought on the matter. “Just as an advice from someone who has had to deal with these matters already. On the desperate hour, try to think of the situation the opposite way: how would things have gone if you were dead, and your adversary would continue living. What would be the balance of good and evil then? Do your best in your life, to make it so hard as possible to that fiend to raise any believable competition on that balance!”

Then the pain came again. Sythric was not sure, for a moment, if Brand had said something or not. And what was even more worrysome, the pain had spread to his hips too. Suddenly he felt quite numb. He made a fast corrective and balancing move to stay on the saddle, waiting for Brand to come forwards.

[Arry]

Brand shifted in his saddle, the better to see Sythric as he spoke. He wondered at first why the old warrior was speaking to him of this. The serious tone of Sythric’s words, and the underlying gentleness in which he sought to cloak them reminded him of his own grandfather; his father’s father.

His grandfather - imparting the lessons life had taught him to his son’s son. Brand smiled for a brief moment recalling a number of times the old man had taken an event in Brand’s life and shown it through his eyes and his experience.

But Sythric’s words this day were not the words his grandfather would have spoken. Of that, Brand was quite sure.

There would have been no counsel on the taking of a man’s life . . . because the Easterling was not a man.

He was not family, not from Wulfham, not of Rohan, and not an ally of the Men of the Riddermark. Those, in themselves, put him under great suspicion; but, the fact that he was a threat to Brand’s family, village, and King made him less than a man in Brand’s eyes. So he had learned from his father and his grandfather, and so he believed.

Brand shifted again, his shoulder was beginning to hurt from the jouncing of the horse as they went along. And uncomfortable, too, because he did not wish to contradict the older man.

‘I appreciate your good words, Master Sythric,’ he began as the man finished speaking. ‘And yes, I have grave thoughts I carry with me. But I must tell you they are worries about how we are to accomplish this task our villages have set for us without losing any more of our companions; and preferably without increasing our injuries as well.’ He looked Sythric full on, his eyes narrowing as he thought how to proceed.

‘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, really, as I think on him. Beasts at least attack for natural reasons . . . they hunger, they wish to protect their young, they wish to keep their little domain safe from intruders. I do not mourn him in the least. He was a foeman and would bring down my family, my village, and my King.’

Brand nodded his head a little as he spoke these last words. ‘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 . . .’

He looked away, his eyes unfocused in the distance. ‘Thank the one who writes our fates that I got the better of him. That the balance tipped in my . . . in our favor, that day . . .’

Sythric’s movements on his saddle as he tried to correct his balance, the seeming look of pain that crossed the old man’s face, made Brand pause in what he was saying. He drew up near to Sythric and reached out to steady him, halting both their horses as he did so.

‘Leod! Meghan!’ he called aloud, becoming alarmed at Sythric’s condition. ‘Come lend a hand and quickly. I fear he might fall!’

[Undómë]

Meghan urged her horse up to where Brand and Sythric had stopped. She could hear the concern in Brand’s voice as he called for her and Leod. And as she looked closely, she could see Sythric wavering in his saddle as if he might topple off at any moment.

She brought her mare alongside Sythric’s horse, on the side opposite to where Brand sat on Lady. The two of them hemmed in Thydrë as Meghan and Brand reached out to the older man to steady him.

Sythric was much larger than either of them. And Meghan was afraid that if he lost consciousness, she and Brand would not be able to hold up the dead-weight of him.

‘Leod! Come help us! We need to get him down to the ground safely . . .’

[Tevildo]

Dorran

"My sister?" A wide grin slipped over Dorran's face. "Her name is Creide, and she's twelve years old, but you'd think she was the same age as I am, the way she acts and carries on. She won't take no for an answer. I used to try and be a father to her, after our Aunt Raven died. But as Creide grew older, that wasn't going to work. I don't try to order her around now, but we still talk a lot. Anyways, I can't tell you how much I miss her."

"Don't mistake my words. Creide is a good girl. She works hard. She has to. She's a scullery maid in Lord Aldwulf's household, and has learned to do all manner of cleaning and cooking and sewing and can even read a little."

"My sister was furious, when I first told her I was going on this trip. She kept saying she was afraid for me, especially with all the Orcs about. That was the truth, but part of her wanted to come along too. She was fuming because she was only twelve, and the master refused to let her journey out from our village. When I get home......" Dorran sighed and then corrected himself. "If I get home safe, whether home is in Edoras or back in the old village, the first thing I'll do is take Creide out to celebrate and present her with a little gift. I even brought some money," Dorran pulled out a small wad of coins and showed them to Athwen. "I thought Creide might like a fine bolt of cloth from Edoras or maybe a piece of jewery."

Shyly, he looked over at Athwen. "You know I really know nothing about what girls want. Maybe when we get to Edoras, you can come with me and go shopping in the market and help me pick out something for Creide. That is, if it's not too much trouble." Dorran took a deep breath and then plunged ahead. "I don't know where you'll be going after all this ends. I don't expect any of us really know. But Lord Aldwulf has a heart of gold. If you've any skill at all, sewing or reading or just helping in the house, I'm sure he'd find a job for you.....someplace where you could stay a while and get your bearings before you decide how to go on with your life. Of course, first we have to get to Edoras."

With that, Dorran kicked his horse with his heels and picked up the pace as they continued down the trail.

____________________________

Leod

From the back of the line, Leod had seen Sythric falter and, even before Meghan called out for help, the healer was cantering forward, drawing up his horse so that he was even with them. Reaching over, Leod put a soft hand on the horse's harness and guided the animal to a halt, all the while helping to steady his rider.

"Let's get him down, Meghan, Brand!" Leod exclaimed. "He can't sit up on his own." Leod took most of the weight of the man over his shoulder, while Brand and Meghan held the horse still. Gently, Leod positioned Sythric in a sitting position on the ground, leaning his body against a large log. Although Sythric's eyes were open, his eyes were glazed over and his face registered considerable pain. He said nothing as the others moved him.

"We've got to do something," Leod growled. "Curses that we must ride today! This man can no more sit a horse than I can fly through the skies to Edoras." He gazed over at the side of the trail. For once, luck was with them. Two saplings had fallen to the forest floor in one of the many recent storms. Their long slender trunks would be perfect as poles to construct a sledge.

"Sit here, both of you!" Leod commanded Meghan and Brand as if they were his servants. There's reeds and small twigs that can be strapped together to make up the base of the sledge along with a large blanket that I have that we can tie on and wrap Sythric in. It won't be the most comfortable thing in the world, but anything is better than having him ride."

Leod ran off and came back with several armloads of materials that they would need. He showed Meghan and Brand and a few of the others how to twist and bind the twigs, although from the look they gave him, it was possible that some of them already knew how to do that. In a short time, the companions had managed to put together a makeshift sledge, and Sythric was resting comfortably on top of a blanket sling between the two poles.

As everyone remounted their horses to start up again, Leod confided to Brand, "The ride will be none too easy for him, and the sledge will slow us down. We should both try to keep an eye on the trail and make sure the ground isn't full of boulders or large tree roots. If necessary, I'll dismount and keep a hand on the sledge to steady it. Let's just hope that the weather holds and the path stays reasonably straight." It was some time later and several miles down the trail before Leod remembered that, with all the excitement, he had totally forgotten to check Brand's dressing.

[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.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

The storm had seemed to pass, at least for some. A mental turmoil still settled over Eostre as she had readied her horse to leave. Those of the party who were mostly unharmed were now the scouts, searching a safe place for the next night. Leaving the wounded...

No, though they were the most hurt, the ones behind, they were still ablebodied, she reminded herself.

They had to make it to Edoras. They had to finish their mission before more people died. The plains seemed so much darker, now that they had claimed the life of one she knew. Trees with malice-filled grins. Straw colored grass with blades hidden in their midst... and ice.

The scouts carried on throughout this. They had to reach Edoras before things got too chaotic. Before more people got killed. Would there even be a Bregoware left to return to after all of this, or would it be another burnt village? Eostre glanced over briefly at her fellow riders. What were they thinking now?

[Tevildo]

Tevildo's post - Dorran

Athwen looked so lovely standing upright in her stirrups with her long hair floating behind her in the wind. Dorran flashed her an impish grin and added, "A race, is it? What a good idea! " The path was flat and open at this point, and he could see a good ways down. "Last one to reach the rock that's beside the stream straight ahead of us has to make dinner for the group. No need to even our weight out. I'll take you on here and now." Dorran had neglected mentioning to Athwen that his job at the manor had been caring for the horses and getting them in shape. He had raced Lord Aldwulf's mounts across the countryside, leaping over fences and hedges, almost every morning.

Dorran kicked Nelly in the flanks and, urging his mount forward, sent her flying down the path. The young man bent low over the horse's neck using every trick that he had learned while serving as a stable boy. From what he could tell, Athwen was coming on very fast, but was still a pace or two behind. When they were within a short distance of the stream, and Athwen was so close that Dorran could see her slender figure out of the corner of his eye and hear the pounding of her horse's hooves, Nelly set her hoof down in a rutted place on the path so that her balance was sightly thrown off. Dorran shifted his weight back in the saddle and let Nelly slow down to make sure that she did not get hurt. At that moment, Athwen, who had been steadily gaining ground, leapt ahead and came to the finishing point.

It was impossible to say whether Dorran or Athwen would have reached the rock first if Nelly had not pulled back. Dorran had been in front but only by a nose, and Athwen was still picking up the pace. Directing Nelly over to the rock, Dorran smiled at Athwen, his eyes bright and welcoming. He spoke with real grace, "I default to you, my lady. You are a fine rider, and, in truth, I believe your mount would have passed mine whatever else happened at the end. I owe you a meal and will make good on my promise the best that I can. Let's walk the horses for a while to give them a breather and let the others catch up."

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Folwren's post

The wind from the speed brought a blush of red to Athwen’s pale cheeks, and she was blowing and grinning as she took Parith for an extra turn before facing Dorran again.

‘I default to you, my lady,’ he said. ‘You are a fine rider, and, in truth, I believe your mount would have passed mine whatever else happened at the end. I owe you a meal and will make good on my promise the best that I can. Let's walk the horses for a while to give them a breather and let the others catch up.’

‘Nay, to be sure,’ Athwen replied brightly. ‘You ran your horse well. I honestly think if she hadn’t faltered at the end and had we had equal weights, I wouldn’t have won. I’ll help you, as usual. It’s not good having empty hands anyway.’

Dorran insisted, however. He had lost, and there was no ‘ifs’ in racing. Athwen wholly disagreed and she insisted, too. He subsided with a look that may have meant ‘we’ll see about it later’ and she grinned in response.

When the others came back withing hailing distance, Dorran called to them, and the five of them gathered together. During a short rest wherein they ate some of the previously prepared food that they still carried, they discussed the morning’s ride. Nothing alarming or out of place had been spotted and things seemed safe enough to continue as before. In ten minutes they were back in the saddle and on their way.

[Farael]

The forward group rode all day at a steady pace, stopping only once for rest and a quick lunch. Osmod was silent most of the way, thinking ahead of the road they still had to cover and constantly looking around for signs of danger. It was rather surprising then, when the other scouts came back and asked him if he was thinking about stopping for the night. Surely there was still plenty of time before sunset.

That was not the case. Lost in his thoughts and with the sun at times being covered by trees, Osmod had not realized as the day had slipped by. They looked for a good place to stop and found a small hill just a few minutes ride ahead. It was not too high, so the wounded would be able to climb it easily, yet a thick clump of trees grew close to the top, which would provide wood for fire and protection from the wind. It was also easily defensible, which Osmod considered should be taken into account whether they liked the idea or not.

There were many things to do and not enough time if the camp was to be set before the wounded rode in. Wood needed to be gathered and larger logs would probably need some cutting, the horses needed to be tended, a fire started and food prepared. Osmod asked Fion to walk with him to the woods while Athwen and Eostre looked after the horses. He had heard Dorran had some skill with food so he asked the young man if he needed anything to prepare a meal. The young man seemed to hesitate for a moment and then quietly asked Osmod if no-one would ride back to meet with the wounded. They would not make it to the camp before nightfall and they may get lost, he argued. Dorran was right, Osmod realized, and so he let the young man ride back to meet with the others.

Walking into the woods, Osmod started picking up fallen branches. He had kept himself busy during the day but now the thoughts of their fallen friend crept back into his mind. He wondered if the men of Rohan would fall too, littering the battle grounds as the branches littered the forests’ floor. For the first time, he realized that he may become one of those branches, whether fighting in battle or after all was lost. He felt then that maybe he would not be riding back to Bregoware after reaching the Golden Halls. Maybe he would stay and fight for those that could not. Glancing towards the camp he saw Athwen looking after her horse. She had lost it all without a chance to fight back, as had many others he did not know. It was not only for Ræwald he would fight for.

[Tevildo]

For the remainder of the afternoon, Leod fussed and fretted as he watched Sythric bump up and down on the sledge. Once when Brand dropped back to ask an innocent question, Leod had lashed out that he had never been on this pathway before, and it certainly wasn't his fault they were out here in the middle of nowhere with a convoy of sick people. If it had been up to him, the injured would have stayed in camp at least another day or two.

The path they were following was not making things any easier. The trail twisted and wound and turned back on itself. Rocks were scattered everywhere. It was quite late in the afternoon when Leod began worrying that they would not make it into camp until nightfall. The last thing he wanted was to be travelling so late. Those who had been wounded at least needed a full night of rest, to say nothing of the dangers of trying to find their way in the darkness!

Leod glanced down at Sythric, and saw the man trying to fumble with his bandages; a slight red stain gave the telltale hint that the wound was bleeding again. Leod shook his head with a sigh. Perhaps the cut was deeper than he had first realized and would now require some stitching. He had a needle and the precious silk thread along with turpentine wax and clarified hog's grease inside his healer's bag. Leod promised himself that they would stop in about an hour so he could stitch up Sythric's wound.

That stop, however, came sooner than expected. The first riders had pulled up and were staring down at a large log that had been thrown crosswise over the path. Immediately on the other side there was a large expanse of ankle deep water, filled with slippery mud. Leod might not describe it as a small bog, but it was definitely larger than a puddle. It would not be difficult for those on horseback to veer off the trail and thread their horses through the trees to go around, but there was no chance for a sledge to get through. Ironically, they could see the trail straighten out ahead, looking broad and flat and open. If they could just get beyond this particular point, they would likely have an easy ride to finish up the day.

Leod hurried his horse up to the front of the line, staring down at the stubborn obstacle, clucking in exasperation, "This is just wonderful! The perfect ending to a perfect day. I absolutely forbid Sythric to sit a horse. Don't even think about it!" At this point, Leod glared menacingly over at Brand. "This poor man is already bleeding. So, unless we put wings on this sledge, he is going nowhere. Ideas, anyone?"

At that instant, there was a clatter of hooves, as a rider came pounding up the trail from the opposite direction. As the distant figure became clearer, they could see it was good news. Splashing his horse through the puddle, Dorran waved a welcoming hand and bellowed out a "haloo" to his comrades. His face registered mild surprise as he saw Sythric lying prone on the sledge, but he was quick to add, "We've found a good campsite for the night. It's not more than two miles from here. If we can just get across this little bog, we'll be fine." Then he echoed Leod's question, "Ideas anyone?"

[Arry]

Brand’s face was slick with sweat from the exertion of the ride. Though the day had grown colder as it passed, it was all he could do not to throw off his cloak to feel some relief from the oppressive heat he felt. He wiped at his face with his gloved right hand, throwing back his cloak a little on that side so that the cooler air might touch him. He was careful to keep his other arm well hidden beneath the cloak. His left shoulder felt tight, hot as an ember, and he could feel the slow trickle of something down his torso as a thickish liquid oozed downward.

‘Perhaps we can unhook the sledge from the horse and three or four of us might carefully bear Sythric on the sledge around the log and the muddy water . . .’ He shifted in his saddle, in a small effort to ease the pain.

‘Meghan and Leod, perhaps you could do this . . . yes? With the help of Naria and Dorran? But that’s only one small offering. Perhaps another of you can see an easier way . . .’

[Folwren]

Athwen finished unsaddling and rubbing down her horse well before Dorran had returned with the wounded group. She set about to using the wood that the others brought in to making the camp fire and then, after washing her hands as best she could, she began to prepare the meal. Her short argument with Dorran from earlier came back to her as she pulled out a pan and she smiled a little. She wondered if he’d even remembered when he went back out to meet the others.

As she prepared the meal her mind wandered back to the events of the day. It had been almost fun. To her, riding out before the ones who had to go more slowly, it felt much like a holiday. The day itself had been nice, perhaps a little on the chilly side, but with a few, scattered runs in their riding, they had managed to keep warm. She and Dorran, after the race, talked quite a bit about past times, concerning horses, anyway. She learned that he had worked with his master’s horses daily. It was little wonder that he had ridden so well, then, and had not minded taking the extra weights of his pack and other luggage. He told her stories about the horse’s, and had made some of the antics of a particular foal sound so humorous and made it bring such lively thoughts to her mind (for she knew how young horses played), that Athwen had actually laughed.

After making sure that the food left to warm until the others got back, and also that water was heating up, Athwen sat down a few paces off, wrapped her arms about her legs, and stared into the fire. Everything was quiet about her. Eostre stood nearby in the shadows. She was silent, as usual. Fion and Osmod were talking quietly on the opposite side of camp; she didn’t know what about.

Sitting thus in silence for a while with nothing to occupy either her mind or her hands, she once more began to think about what was to come, and some part of her thought about what had been. Dorran had mentioned earlier the master of his village. He was kind, he had said, and would help her if he could. That was true, he probably would. What was more, Athwen had no doubt that any one of her companions here would do their best to see that she wasn’t left helpless and alone. She didn’t want to be a burden to people, though.

With a sigh, she lifted her hand and rested her forehead on it, combing back the hair with her fingers. Life was so uncertain now.

But why should that let her down? Time would tell what came, and if she met it bravely and without faltering, then she would find a way through. Dorran had said that, or something like, she felt sure he had.

A stick hissed and popped and a fragment fell from the fire. It attracted her gaze and she stared at it while the orange changed collars and then slowly faded into black as the minutes passed. A thought came to her that if she were to blow upon the stick, it would glow and glimmer again, and maybe even briefly burst into flame. If she left it alone, it would fade and die and become cold and hard, a useless clump of charcoal.

'Hope is like that,' whispered a voice inside her head. 'If you leave it lying without taking it up, it will go away for ever, and then there won’t be anything to live for. But so long as there’s hope, there’s a way to live.'

‘Hope of what?’ she murmured. There was no answer for the space of a moment. But then Osmod came up, carrying a larger piece of wood. She looked up at him as he placed it carefully on the fire. It’s bark was dry and old and the flames eagerly accepted it, the fire leaping up higher suddenly. A faint smile came to her lips and she lifted her head and let her hand fall. 'You’ll find a reason. Someday. Life’s uncertain, remember? You won’t know until you get there.'

[Nogrod]

‘Perhaps we can unhook the sledge from the horse and three or four of us might carefully bear Sythric on the sledge around the log and the muddy water . . .’ Sythric had been somewhat aware of the situation, but now Brand's words really woke him up. He was terrified of the idea. It was already enough to be tied to the sledge. Sporting over a piece of water with it was just too much.

"Please friends! How about Meghan and Leod you just help me to my feet and support me over it? If its not too deep..." He turned his eyes towards the others, trying to take a firm grip from the sledge's side to aid him with rising up. "I would surely like to be in an upright position for a while.", he said, addressing his words mostly towards Leod, "I think, it would do me good too. And anyhow, if I can't be trusted to walk today, how do you think I'm riding tomorrow? I should try it."

[Tevildo]

With this last pronouncement from Sythric, everyone turned to Leod. The healer glared back at Sythric, "Alright. Enough! I have heard that tone before. I know when it is useless to argue with a stubborn patient. I would rather do what Brand suggested, but it will do us know good unless you cooperate. A short walk will not hurt you, but be careful. It's slippery."

Leod reached over and gently slid his hands underneath Sythric's arms, offering him some support so that he could stand up. Then the healer snapped out his orders. "Dorran, drag the sledge over to the other side. There should be no trouble now that it's empty. Meghan, you've a gentle hand and seem like a sturdy lass. Get over here on the other shoulder and lend Sythric your strength. We'll take this slow and easy. The last thing I want to see is my patient falling on his face. And the rest of you, find your way through the trees to the other side. I don't know how deep the water is, and we may need your help to pull us out of this muck. Here now. One of you take my healer's satchel so it doesn't end up under water."

Once the older man had finished speaking, Sythric headed for the trees to make his way around the log . They had no trouble getting beyond the fallen tree trunk. Leod thought it might be easiest to continue through the trees and then cut back to the main trail, but that proved to be a bad idea. The mud was so soft that the walkers slid in up to their ankles and could barely pull their feet out of the muck. It was clearly safer to go back to the main pathway and wade through the water. As Sythric cautiously ploughed through the water, the rocks underneath made for uneasy footing. Once or twice he slipped, but Meghan and Leod reached out to steady him. At its deepest point, the water reached as high as their knees. Despite the rocks and the water, they managed to get Sythric safely to the other side and Meghan was also pulled out on the bank.

Leod gave strict orders that Sythric was to go back immediately on the sledge, and that he would not listen to any further nonsense or protests. As the group mounted up, the healer slipped over beside Brand and whispered, "Master Brand, I do not like the look of you at all. Frankly, you look worse than Sythric. Since Dorran says that camp is just a few miles away, we'll continue on. But the minute we get there, you're to settle down and rest, and I must have a look at that wound."

The group continued forward. The flat and open trail made for relatively easy going, and it was not long before they reached the point where Dorran told them to leave the trail. Within a few minutes, they were approaching the campsite. The odor of a lovely hot meal floated enticingly towards them.

"Oh, bother! I forgot." With that, Dorran raced over to Athwen and apologized. "My fault, my fault. I was supposed to do the meal. So now I owe you two I guess. I don't know what you made but it smells lovely, and I know the others are hungry."

[Folwren]

The noise of the returning group brought Athwen out of her reverie. She roused herself and stood, ready to offer herself to anyone who needed any help. The only light was that from the fire, and it leaped and danced, sending odd shadows away into the darkness. The horses came near, mere outlines in the greyness, and then they came into the firelight. The riders looked pale, the wounded ones weak and in pain. She took a step forward and then stopped. Osmod and Fion were approaching them. They would be more help than she. She would only get under foot at the moment. Better to put the finishing touches to the meal.

She was going to some saddle bags to get bowls with Dorran’s voice over took her. ‘Oh, bother! I forgot!’ he cried. She heard his hurrying footsteps behind her and as she turned to face him, bowls in hand, he was alright there by her side. ‘My fault, my fault. I was supposed to do the meal. So now I owe you two, I guess. I don’t know what you made, but it smells lovely, and I know the others are hungry.’

He put out his hands to take the bowls from her. Athwen, being preoccupied with answering him, let him take them gently away from her.

‘Nothing special. What can one do without a proper cooking place? I’ve merely used some of the water and cooked up some of the smoked boars meat we had from a few days ago and tossed in a couple vegetables that you found. . .I think it was you. . .’ She didn’t know for certain, though, because she hadn’t been there when they’d found them. ‘And some of the herbs from Leod’s garden,’ she finished. ‘I can do a bit of cooking in a pinch, I think.’

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Arry’s post


While the others saw to Sythric and Vaenosa, Brand urged Lady to a place on the opposite side of the fire. He was glad of the general hubbub of the camp – the settling of the wounded; the preparation of the evening meal. It drew attention away from him.

He sat for a moment in the saddle, catching his breath as he mustered the energy to dismount. His left arm was all but useless now; it was so swollen and very painful.

Lady stood stock still, sensing her owner needed what small assistance she could give. Brand loosed the cinch and let the saddle drop to the ground. He undid the buckle that held her bridle and she backed away as he held onto it, loosing it from her head.

‘Good girl!’ he said, patting her on the neck. He opened one of the small bags tied to the back of the saddle and gave her a handful of oats. ‘There’ll be plenty more once we reach the Golden Hall.’ She eyed him as if skeptically and made no comment save the crunch crunch of her teeth on the grain. Lady looked hopefully for another hand out, but when none was forthcoming, she wandered off a little to nibble on the dried tufts of grass about the edges of the camp.

Brand dragged his pack and bedroll near the fire. Unlike earlier when he felt hot, now he felt quite chilled. Pulling his cloak about him, he sat down carefully on one of his folded blankets and drew the other up over his shoulders, pulling it tight about him. His teeth were chattering despite the heat from the cook fire.

Someone handed him a mug of warm tea . . . and he mumbled out a word of thanks . . .

[Undómë]

‘You’re more than welcome!’ Meghan straightened back up and took a sip of her own tea. ‘I wish we had some honey from my family’s farm,’ she said, her nose wrinkling a little at the bitter undertaste of the herbs.

She shivered beneath her thick cape. The wind had shifted from the west and now the cold eastern currents swept over the plains bringing the assurance of a storm.

‘Move over a bit!’ Meghan reached out with the edge of her boot and nudged Brand a little. ‘My legs are still cold and wet from the trek through the bog with Sythric.’

Tucking her cloak beneath her, she huddled down next to Brand. ‘Cat got your tongue, eh?’ Meghan took another drink of tea, thinking perhaps he was just tired. She leaned forward, picking up a small chunk of wood to throw in the fire. As she leaned back, her right shoulder hit against his left.

‘Sorry! Didn’t mean to hurt you.’ Meghan thought she heard him stifle a gasp. A glance his way showed he was shivering hard. Setting her mug on the ground she put a hand on lightly on his forearm. ‘Are you alright, Brand?’ she asked, a look of concern on her face.

His head was in profile to her. She reached out and tipped his face toward her; her fingers lightly guiding his chin. Alarmed at what she saw, she called out loudly.

‘Leod! Come quickly! He’s sick!’

[Tevildo]

Tevildo's post

Leod had been replacing bandages, stitching up cuts, and simmering herbal remedies in several small pots hanging over the firepit, when he heard Meghan calling out in a worried voice. One look at Brand told him all he needed to know. The man's face was flushed; his hair hung limp, dripping with sweat. Fever! Undoubtedly high fever. That could only mean that the wound had gone bad. There was no time to lose. For the tenth time that day, the healer silently cursed that he had let others persuade him to push his patients forward without another day of rest.

Leod had Brand remove the clothing that lay directly over the wound so they could have a better look. What he saw deeply concerned him. Red streaks radiated out from the wound. There were several deep pockets of pus.

"Alright, Brand." The healer spoke in his gentlest tone, far different than how he'd sounded on the trail earlier that day. " Your wound has flared up. We're going to have to get it cleaned and then I'll lay down a honey potion. I don't know why, but the honey seems to draw out the bad spirits and start the wound healing again. I'm afraid this may hurt a little. Just hold on and we'll be done in a minute."

First, Leod continued to talk to Brand, explaining what he was doing to him. "This will be hot, quite hot. It's water and clove oil mixed, an excellent rememdy for cleansing. Just hang on for a minute."

"Next, you'll feel some pressure. I'll be cleaning out some of the infection....nasty green and yellow stuff that will do you absolutely no good." Leod was careful to drain out all the hidden pools, soaked the wound in the clove oil mixture for some time, and finally dried it.

"One last thing," added the healer, addressing both Brand and Meghan. "This will help. The honey came from my backyard. The flowers there were amazing. It took years to figure out which ones were best to grow, but the honey the bees made from those flowers was unusually potent in the healing of wounds." With that explanation, Leod took out a bandage and placed a generous amount of honey on it before wrapping up the wound.

"Well, Master Brand, you're not going anyplace tonight. And, as for tomorrow, I am not at all sure. If necessary, I shall stay here in the woods with you and Sythric, and give you two some extra time to rest while the group goes forward. Sometimes this honey works quickly. At other times, it may take a while. But if your fever is this bad in the morning, I will personally sit on top of your chest and enlist Dorran to do the same to prevent you from going anywhere!"


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Nogrod's post

For a short while Sythric had felt somewhat energized as he had been allowed to leave that gods-forsaken sledge and stand up. Even the trouble of getting over the bog had been refreshing variation to just leaning in the sledge and getting all his parts sore and aching. Sythric would have loved to try riding after the crossing, but Leod’s gaze had been firm enough for him even to dare suggest it. And in the end, he knew that Leod was right. He wasn’t a man to ride.

Leod had stiched his wound as a first thing as they had reached the camp. Even though he was still under the spell of Leod’s painkillers, the stiching operation was extremely painful. Sythric had to bite his teeth not to yell in pain. Leod had allowed him a last sip of his wine before he started. The rest was to go on cleansing the wounds, his own to begin with. After the operation he was bandaged once again, although the bandages were the same he had before, stained with dried blood and mud. After bandaging he was hoisted to lean against a larger tree beside the fireplace so that he could follow what was going on. Fion brought him a bowl of broth and smiled encouragingly. Sythric thanked him for the broth. The smell of it made him realize his hunger. Well, this can’t be too bad, if I’m still hungry..., he thought to himself, smiling inwardly to the irony of his own thoughts against what he actually felt. Fion stood aside him as he took the first spoonful of the steaming broth. Sythric looked at him to the eyes, smiled a little and said. “Leod told you to see if I can manage this? Well, tell him that I can. You should do better by helping him with the others. I’ve been taken care of enough already for this day.”, with that he winked an eye tio Fion and nodded. Fion smiled hesitatingly, unsure of what to do, but Sythric’s nod gave him relief – and by a nod he went after Leod who was tending Vaenosa.

The easterling had been a skilled swordsman, and his blade had been truly excellent. It had cut through his leather armour like paper, breaking at least his ribs. Leod had said nothing about his organs and Sythric hadn’t wanted to ask about them. The wound started from near his armpit and went down his side almost to his waist. It was a vertical, sharp and clean cut. Like it’s been made with a carving knife! A dull orcsword would never do anything like this, no no... He suddenly remembered the last time, indeed the only time he had been really seriously injured before. It had been his second last year in the riders.

Two orcs had been coming onto him. He had parried the one to his left with his shield, intending to swing his sword against the one coming from his right. That had been a bit too ambitious move. The hit on his shield had been powerful enough to unbalance him just enough to miss his swing with the right hand. The blow to the right side of his chest had hitten him with almost full force. Had his sword not have hit the orc’s sword just ever so slightly, killing off some of its momentum, he would have been dead by that one. If that orc would have had the sword of this easterling... I wouldn’t be here to remember it.

The orcswords are mainly heavy and dull. For someone wearing any quality armour they basically produce concussion-like hits – if they come through. Sythric had broken some ribs back then too and had some internal bleeding, but his armour was not penetrated and the bleeding had ceased early enough for him to survive. After the battle he had been taken to the nearest town in a carriage with other woundeds. Then he had laid a full week in bed, not being allowed to even stand up. It had taken another week before he was given a permission to try riding.

Now it seems a bit different. This surely is worse than that one, and we dont have even a cart to carry myself and Brand. And how about Vaenosa? How is she faring? Then he heard Meghan calling for Leod in distressed voice. As he looked to the other side of the fireplace, he saw pale and sweating Brand sitting, Meghan holding him with an agonized look. Leod rushed to them and started tearing Brand’s shirt off, looking very worried indeed. Oh Brand! I hope you are not going to die! You are a good man!, for a while Sythric just stared towards the fire blank-minded. We’re not going to ride anywhere tomorrow, you and I, he kind of addressed Brand in his thoughts. But maybe some of us can, and send a cart to us then? He took another sip of the broth, deeply in his thoughts that seemed to move ever so slowly. But could we make it here until you come back, for it would take several days at best – or would you come here just to pick up our corpses...?

[Undómë]

‘No need to call Dorran, Master Leod.’ Meghan sat down cross-legged on the ground beside Brand. She leaned forward and adjusted a cool cloth the healer had placed on Brand’s head since the chill he had been experiencing now gave way to a raging fever.

If you’ll bring us some broth and tea . . . oh, with your honey in it, just a little please. I’ll see what I can get into him. Me, too if you please,’ she finished off giving him a smile.

Turning her attention back to Brand, she leaned forward resting her right elbow on her knee. Her hand cupped her chin as she rocked just a little back and forth, thinking. ‘You know, I think I only got up to my eleventh year on the farm in Bregoware . . . the last time we talked . . . remember?’ She thought she heard a groan from him, though she could not tell whether it was from pain or the anticipation of listening to the seemingly never empty treasury of stories from her childhood.

Someone had come up and set a big bowl of broth thick with some minced meat from what the others were eating. And their mugs had been filled with sweet tea. Meghan propped Brand’s head and shoulders up on a couple of rolled blankets and spooned a little of each into his mouth, ordering him to swallow. ‘Don’t make me do like I’ve done for my goats sometimes when they’re off their feed, sick with something, and getting weaker.’ She gave him another spoonful of broth. ‘I’m sure you’ve used it on your sheep,eh? Tube down the throat to the tummy . . .’

‘Good, good. I see you’re swallowing well now.’ She took a few spoonfuls of broth herself and a big gulp of the sweetened tea. After a fair period of him sipping at the tea and broth, she let him rest. ‘I’d offer you a bite of this dried meat,’ she said taking a slender piece of smoked goat from the inner pocket of her vest. ‘But it’s rock hard and I think you’d be asleep before you got it to where you could swallow it.’

Meghan wiped his face with the cloth from his forehead. He seemed to be dropping into a restful sleep. His breathing had evened out, and he did not seem quite as hot. She spooned the remainder of the broth into her own mouth, speaking low to him, in a sing-songy, remembering sort of manner between the spoonfuls.

‘When I was eleven, I helped my brother deliver our first set of twin kids. It was a mild winter; I remember that. And the first soft breath of Spring was just blowing across the new grass, just sprung up. You know, how it is, Brand. The smell of the first trees in blossom was sweet in the air . . .’

[Arry]

Brand frowned as the smell of blossoms drifted into his consciousness.

But it is nearly winter. . . I’m sure of that . . . there should be no apple blossoms, only the scent of coming cold on the wind . . .

His brow smoothed out as he recognized the source of the voice. Meghan’s voice. That’s what had prompted his recollection . . . Brand smiled and relaxed beneath his blankets.

At the edges of his hearing the sounds of the camp crept in. Leod’s voice and the shuffle of his steps as he moved carefully from wounded to wounded. In the distance came the soft voices of Dorran and Athwen. Fion’s soft laugh rang out . . . a moment of ease. A woman’s low voice asked questions of Leod . . . Vaenosa, perhaps. Someone’s boots crunched against the ground. A purposeful step. Osmod, he thought.

From a distance came the nickering of the horses. For a moment he thought he might get up and see to Lady. But the effort of getting up was too much; he settled back in. Incana would most likely be taking care of the horses. They were in good hands. Eostre, too, perhaps.

Meghan’s voice insinuated itself against the background sounds, drawing back his attention. The scent of apple blossoms blew in again on the breeze of her words.

It had been a struggle, the birth of the two kids . . . she was eleven . . . he could see her thin, sturdy little body bent carefully over the one her brother had handed her . . .

[Tevildo]

Leod plopped down on the ground and stretched out his legs on a spot not far from where Brand was sleeping. He was having trouble sleeping. The healer had been working ever since they'd arrived in camp, and every joint in his body felt as if it had been fed through a giant meat grinder. Leod softly chided himself. What kind of a healer can I be, if I can't heal myself? But even the sharp pain in his knees was preferable to the more serious problem that continued to plague his mind.

A simple healer, he reflected, could only do so much. He would not have confided to the others, but Leod was beginning to fear that he did not have the skills or potions to help Sythric and Brand pull through and regain their health. He could see that both their wounds were beginning to fester. He'd applied the honey paste to each, when he'd changed their bandages, but had not told anyone else how serious the situation was.

If the men were lucky, the wounds would clear quickly, and healing would begin. If not,..... Leod did not even want to think about the "if not", not here in the middle of the woods where no other help was forthcoming. They had come too far and survived too much to consider the alternative. With both Brand and Sythric unable to offer leadership, it was important that he keep his head clear and try to put a good face on things.

Leod glanced over at Meghan. She was still near Brand, occasionally checking on him and offering words of encouragement. Leod could not help but chuckle. "Mistress, you have a tongue on you," the older man quipped. "But you also have a way with people. You would make a good healer." This was the highest compliment that Leod could offer to any living thing. Then he nodded over towards Sythric. "I need to rest a spell. If you could stay awake, I would be much obliged. Could you keep an eye on Sythric as well as Brand? If you see any change in how they look, please wake me at once. Don't stop and ask if you should. Just do it. Don't worry. I will be up in an hour or two. I learned that knack long ago. But someone will have to sit with them meanwhile. I am afraid night often brings the worst..... "

The healer swallowed the rest of his words, afraid he had said too much, pulled up his blankets and drifted off to sleep.

[Farael]

As night fell, it was time for rest. Yet almost none of the riders could find any. Osmod had volunteered for the first watch, even though it was a watch only in name for there were many of them who were still awake. Leod had gone to get some sleep and Meghan was looking over Sythric and Brand who seemed to be injured the most. It would be something to consider the following morning, yet Osmod had other things to worry about. He had heard some of the tells Sythric and Ræwald had shared by the bonfire when they thought all of the rest were asleep and he wondered how it would be like to be a rider of The Mark. Visions of glory and fame ran through Osmod’s mind as he walked to the fire to get a cup of hot tea. He imagined himself sitting tall on his mount, his armour shining on the sun as he and his fellow riders charged against hordes of orcs –and were victorious. Absently he reached for the kettle, dreaming now about the time he would gain recognition in the field of battle and as a proof of his prowess he’d leave the head of an orc impaled on his spear as a warning to any other of those foul beasts that may follow.

Yet this orc’s head was hot. Burning hot. So hot Osmod could not help to let out a cry, as he found himself dragged back to reality and the fact that he had been holding on to the kettle, and not by the handle. Cursing at his lapse of attention he emptied half of his water-skin on his scorched fingers. For a moment he tried to act as if he was alright, yet the pain on his hand was just too much to bear. Feeling embarrassed and ashamed, he walked over to Leod who seemed to be at least partially awake and asked for a little help with his burns. He did not even hear what the healer replied, embarrassed as he was.

[Undómë]

Meghan looked up at Osmod’s cursing. She frowned, watching him pour water over his hand. ‘What on earth has he done to himself?’ she wondered as he passed by where she sat with Brand; she had missed his unfortunate encounter with the hot kettle.

Brand was asleep, his face relaxed, breathing even. She put the palm of her hand against his forehead, noting it had grown cooler. Meghan chewed at the corner of her bottom lips considering whether he would stay asleep. She glanced over at Sythric, he seemed comfortable, too, for the moment. Chancing that her charges would not do something foolish, Meghan stood up and hurried to where Osmod stood talking low to Leod.

‘Oh, Osmod! That must hurt horribly!’ she said taking his burned hand in her own. Meghan glanced up from her inspection of the blistered fingers and reddened palm to his face. In the wavering light of the fire she could see his cheeks were a little crimsoned; though it seemed not from the pain. She could see the hand did indeed hurt him but he seemed to be holding back the pain well.

‘Let me get your salves and such and your rolls of bandage, Leod,’ she went on, turning her attention to the healer. ‘And a little cool water . . . yes? . . . to clean the burn.’

‘Don’t worry, Osmod,’ she said. ‘We . . . well, that is, Leod, I mean, will soon get you fixed up.’

Meghan was glad the night hid her own reddened cheeks as she went to fetch Leod’s supplies. Don’t let Leod’s words swell your head, girl! she chided herself as she hurried along.

[Tevildo]

The young man lowered his lanky frame to the ground, offering his injured hand to the healer. Seeing the sheepish look that was spreading quickly over Osmod's face, Leod said nothing more that might increase the lad's embarassment, but merely nodded gruffly to Meghan to run and fetch his supplies.

Leod carefully inspected Osmod's fingers and palm, and then told the young man to sit for some time with his hand in a pot of cold water, explaining that it would take away some of the sting. After that, Leod called Osmod back again and put on some salve and a bandage, adding a word of explanation. "By the morning you should be feeling much better. It's not a bad burn. You should be left with a blister or two but hopefully nothing more than that. Best thing you can do now is sleep. I'll take a look at the dressing in the morning. Still, you might want to be careful not to reinjure it. Hold your reins in your other hand when you ride tomorrow and, a day or two from now, you'll probably forget this ever happened."

As Osmod headed off in the direction of his bedroll, Leod spoke to Meghan. "This doesn't look to be a night when I'm meant to get much sleep. Of course, you're welcome to help out if you want but you might want to think about getting some sleep yourself in an hour or so. I am going off on my own, not far from camp, to find some herbs that I badly need but I expect to be back very shortly to relieve you. Still, until I return, I would appreciate if you would tend to the injured. I don't like leaving camp at a time like this, but unfortunately I have no choice. And you do seem to have a way with tending to the sick." With that Leod stood up to gather his things, being careful to take along a stave and knife in case he ran into something unexpected, however unlikely that might me. He also carried a small lighted torch so that he could see the pathway more clearly.

Back home in his village, Leod often made a practice of going out after dark to gather herbs that he needed. There were certain types of plants that were actually easier to find by night than day, especially various lichens growing on rotted wood that were reputed to be excellent in dressing wounds. During the day, these humble grey plants would melt into their surroundings but at night some would give off an eerie luminescence. Perhaps it wasn't the wisest thing to be going out on his own, but Leod desperately needed more medications to help care for Brand and Sythric. The woods seemed quiet. He did not want to rob sleep from anyone else by insisting that they go with him. Everyone was too tired, and several were injured. He was the healer, and it was his responsibility to have the herbs and potions that would give both Sythric and Brand the best chance of staying alive. With that thought uppermost in his mind, Leod grabbed a sack, threw on his cloak, and with the briefest nod to Meghan strode out of camp. No one followed him and in a short time he had cut across the country, going far off the path, in search of the precious lichens.

[Arry]

Brand wakened briefly to see Leod bandaging someone’s hand. Osmod! Had there been another skirmish? No . . . some other mishap had happened. His gaze traveled round the little camp. All seemed peaceful enough. A number of the group were settled in around the fire, talking quietly; some were getting their own bedrolls put out for the night.

Meghan it appeared had finished checking on Vaenosa and was just now adjusting the blankets on Sythric. He saw her glance toward Osmod and then away. Brand raised himself on one elbow watching as she retrieved her blankets and looked about for somewhere to lay them out. She looked tired.

A twinge of guilt poked him. She had had little sleep the previous night from her watch on him. And she would be just as watchful tonight if he gave her reason to. He settled down again beneath his blankets and closed his eyes, smoothing out his face and breathing slowly as if resting peacefully.

He saw her settling in, less than an arm’s reach from where he lay. Brand smiled as she turned on her side and pulled the covers about her. He intended she sleep well this night, at least on his account. He would give her no trouble.

His fever still coursed through him, he could feel the heat of it filling the small spaces between his body and his own blanket. And the small movement he had made just to look about made his shoulder feel as if red hot pokers were being plunged though the flesh and bone. He clenched his jaw stifling a gasp as he tried to settle into a position of comfort. And such a position seemed very hard to find.

’Twill be a long night, boyo . . . he rasped to himself, pressing his right hand against the bandage on his left shoulder. Put your thoughts elsewhere than this infernal pain . . . remember one of the old tales great-granda used to tell you . . . the one about the Elves . . . and how they looked, so tall and shining upon their silver dappled horses . . . grey eyes glinting from their fair faces in the moonlight . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Hold tight to your bow, and keep your sword near at hand, for we may have need of these before this grim night has ended." The tall figure who rode in front hastily pulled his hood over his head, while the others in his party did the same. Anyone watching them from the nearby woods would have seen only the shadowy eyes of the lead rider; the stern look on his face, his features and form, were completely hidden from outside view. This was how he and the others preferred it.

"Come along now. Stop this idle chatter. No time for song or riddle or play." The rider at the head of the small column turned back to the others, urging them forward.

"Can we not rest, make camp for a short spell?" the youngest of the group implored, his body and head weakly sagging. Though all were strong and healthy, the ride had not been easy. They had ridden northward now for a full three days.

"No, impossible! After what happened earlier, you can not possibly suggest this. There is little safety for us in these lands. Indeed, rest is a luxury we can ill afford. We must and will defend our kin. This time I will not hesitate if any cross our path. We must reach the High Pass and cross over the mountain. It is our only hope in these troubled times."

"We should not have come!" came a stern voice from the solitary figure who rode in the back.

"Perhaps not," his companion responded. "But we could not leave without seeing the Edhellond . Too much of my heart is there." He did not add what the others were thinking: that the sight of the rocky promontory and the long-deserted harbors had brought happiness to none of them. Too many ghosts were whistling in the wind, too many folk who had forgotten. What had been even more shocking is that there had been laughs and jeers of disbelief from some of those in town. And then, once they had made their way back along the river, the attackers had come. He had not been prepared. This time, Nilhil vowed, he would be the one to attack first and ask questions later. He owed it to the others, for they had put their trust in him.

"Remember now," he growled. If you see or hear anything, let me know. Believe and trust no one. Even a solitary traveller may only be the lead man in an entire armed company."

With that, the party of six riders, all tall in body and carrying arms of great value and beauty, stepped onto the path again , swiftly making their way northward.

[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.

[Undómë]

She only allowed herself a short space of time to rest. And she dared not close her eyes lest the entire night pass away. Leod had asked her to watch over his charges while he was away . . . and that she would do.

Meghan drew back her blankets and sat up. She hadn’t bothered to take off her boots and now she swung her legs out from under the covers and leveraged herself up to a standing position. Her back bone ached and she cricked her neck and flexed her spine, grimacing as the bones creaked reluctantly back to a more suitable position.

Reaching up to where her hair was fastened at the nape of her neck with a leather tie, she unbound it, and let it hang loose. It was dirty and tangled and she could barely comb her fingers through it. With an effort she managed to corral it all back from her face and to separate it into three thick strands. Her fingers flew quickly along their lengths, knitting them together into a braid.

‘’Twill have to do,’ she sighed, shrugging her shoulders. She would give anything for a long hot soak in the tub and buckets and buckets of hot water to wash her hair. Oh for some of her mother’s rose-oil soap and a thick bristled brush to scrub the layers of grime from limb and head.

Meghan shook off these indulgent thoughts, chiding herself for dawdling away her time with such selfish concerns. ‘Grab the bucket, girl!’ she told herself. ‘And get some fresh, cool water for your charges.

She nodded at Athwen, at the perimeter of the camp, as she passed by. Meghan held up her empty bucket, giving the indication that she would fill it and return directly . . .

[Tevildo]

Leod had intended to go no more than a quarter mile away from the encampment. He had the benefit of a full moon as well as the lighted torch he carried. He expected to find his supplies quickly and return to camp within the hour. Yet, after meticulously searching the surrounding forest floor, he had reluctantly concluded that the herbs and lichens he required were nowhere in sight.

The healer wanted and needed to return to his companions. What if Sythric or Brand took a turn for the worse? Leod would never forgive himself if anything should happen to them while he was away. At the same time, he remained acutely aware that he was nearly out of certain potions and herbs, remedies that were essential for treating wounds that had festered. Since he had used up the remainder of his honey paste, Leod felt he had no choice but to continue searching.

Earlier that day, just before they had turned from the trail to reach camp, Leod had noticed a winding spring that veered off the pathway and spilled down towards the south. Its damp banks would surely be a place where moss and lichen would thrive, and he would find his needed supplies. Even better, with the spring to guide him, he could not possibly get lost. The healer promised himself that, whatever happened, he would not go more than a few miles away and would hurry back within the space of two hours. Meghan was a responsible lass and would surely forgive him for her loss of sleep and would continue to keep watch over their injured companions.

Once he'd reached the stream, Leod was able to move quickly along its banks. A little more than two miles south, he discovered several large and rotting trees fallen to the ground that had moss and lichen growing on the exterior of their trunks as well as on the rocky ground beneath. The healer bent over to scoop up several handfuls and stuffed these securely inside his satchel. By now, his torch had completely extinguished, and he tossed it aside after dowsing the last sparks in the stream. Happy to have found the needed medications, and confident that he could find his way back by simply following the waterway, Leod stood up and began walking again, anxious to get back to camp to check on Sythric and Brand. He took no more than a few steps when a loop of rope came gently curling through the air and encircled his head and shoulders, tugging him towards the ground. Leod struggled to find a firm footing on the muddy bank but with no success. He toppled to the ground, hitting his head against the tree trunk and immediately fell unconscious. The sack he carried was immediately wrenched from his grasp, slipped into the water, and, carried along by the gentle current, was soon swept out of sight.

[Child of the 7th Age]

"What think you? Who is he? Is he friend or foe?" The leader of the group queried, as he paced nervously from one side of the camp to the other. Haekánoion had finally agreed to stop for a few hours. They had eaten a quick meal and spent most of their time questioning the prisoner to find out why he was slinking around on his own in the middle of the night. The unnamed man had finally collapsed and was now sleeping in a huddled ball not far from where they were talking.


"I can not tell," Airerogion responded, with a confused look written across his face. "We grilled him for two hours until he was too tired to stand upright any longer. You heard what he said. He claims to be alone, making his way to Edoras where he has kinfolk and friends. He says he is a healer and that he was out looking for herbs to replenish his supplies. But I see no bag or herbs such as a healer might carry. Perhaps he is telling the truth, but he could just as easily be a spy, someone sent out to inspect the lay of the countryside and report on poor travellers who would make a good target for a band of brigands."

"I fear you are right. It makes no sense for anyone to be slinking through the woods in the middle of the night."

The eldest in the party, a woman with soft grey eyes and long black hair streaked with silver that was tied back from her face, smiled gently, "You mean the way we were slinking about ourselves in the dark? Hard times make choices difficult and some folk act in ways they normally do not."

There was an uncomfortable silence around the circle as each Elf took in the meaning of Nevtaliel's words. This description came perilously close to their own situation. It was not their custom to lasso strangers with a rope, to press them with a hundred different questions, or to raise up their swords in a threatening gesture. Elves may prefer to tread their own path but they normally do no harm to strangers.

Nihil shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "But what could we do? We must reach Rivendell and tell Elrond what we have seen before we depart these shores. Yet every step of the path, we are confronted by robbers or, even worse, by troops of Orcs and men from the East."

"Of one thing we can be sure," Nihil added, "this is no man from the East and no Orc." Several of the others nervously tittered, remembering with some embarassment that, in the dark, they had initially mistaken the stranger for an Easterling lord. His simple words and homespun garb had quickly proved them wrong.

Haekánoion glanced over at the silver haired woman who sat quietly by herself. "You have more to say, Nevtaliel. I can see it in your eyes."

"That I do," she affirmed. "What band of brigands sends out a member to spy who bears only a stave and a knive? Surely even brigands have the sense to arm their spy with a sword or an axe or a bow. And what spy is so inept that he stumbles into our path in the middle of a clearing, making no attempt to hide in the bushes? No, this man was deeply engrossed in something, either what he was doing or thinking. That doesn't sound like a spy."

"One other thing," she added. "I think you are right....that he is lying about something. But he is telling the truth about one important thing. This man is a healer. I questioned him about a number of herbs and simple remedies, and he knew his craft inside out. Indeed, I would say that he is not only a healer, but one of the better ones I have spoken to among the younger sons."

"Are you sure?" pressed Haekánoion. "That he is a healer."

"How could I not be sure? I have spent two ages learning my craft. I can certainly tell when I am speaking with another healer."

"That settles it then. I can not murder a healer armed with only a stave, even if he belongs to a band of brigands. We will take him with us, bound on horseback for a day or two, and then let him loose when we are far north and west from here..... That way he can do no damage."

[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?