A/N: Cairistiona, Linda Hoyland, and Levade. Wonderful betas, wonderful writers. Go read their stuff.

All recognizable elements (admittedly not many in this chapter-bear with me, beloved characters are soon to reappear) belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.

IV

Ready To Go Rangering

In the clinging mist before dawn Sive and I slipped on our harvesting clothes: woolen hose and tunics of oiled canvas over heavy linen shirts, and leather boots handed and handed down from cousins or sisters whose oft-replaced soles had seen many miles through mucky fields. Over my ensemble I tied my cloak of grey lambswool and drew up the hood. Sive donned a doeskin jerkin that had once been Iarladh's and was much too big for her, but she belted it gamely with a girth of leather through which she thrust a gleaming knife. For a moment I envied her; even though her skinny frame was swallowed whole she had the look of someone prepared to cover rugged country.

My pack I had prepared for days, ever since my scheme had first blossomed in my mind. We hurried to the eastern edge of the village where a great elm stooped low over the broken border-wall. Into its bole I had stuffed my supplies and I scrambled atop the stone and retrieved it, the single haversack with a blanket thrust through the shoulder-straps. Inside was flint and steel, bread and smoked meat, a tiny earthen jar of wound-salve, a length of rope, a box of peat moss for tinder, and a spare shirt for each of us. I had left behind the soap, for we were Rangers now and bathing was negligible. I had also in a fit of uneasiness stuffed a fistful of pipeweed into a little leather pouch and packed it carefully into the bottom of the haversack, to soothe any irascible tempers we would inevitably encounter.

Lastly from the tree-hole I pulled my final treasure, a plain sheath dyed dark with walnut. Nestled safe in oiled fleece within it was a dagger of my father's, longer than my forearm. I drew it halfway to admire the glow of it, the way it seemed to gather dim daybreak into its steel. I bent my head and breathed on its blade to see the fog collect and wipe away beneath my thumb. I smiled as I sheathed it again and buckled it beside my hip. I too was ready to go Rangering.

As we had the morning of the Rangers' return, we slipped through the underbrush past the sentry. In his defense, he was charged with watching outwards for dangers that approached the settlement and not for absconders from within it; even so I suspected my father would have a word or two for the boy if ever he found out how easily we evaded detection. When we were past we eased back into sight of the path and trotted through the trees as swiftly as we dared. Orlaithe and Sadoc had left before the moon had set, some hours before dawn. But they would be slow, hampered by the laden cart. If we kept a quick pace we would overtake them, and could follow unseen along the path towards the river.

We spoke little as the sun appeared, trekking as quickly as we could. My intent was to waylay the wagon and follow it in secret, and when the sun was high we were rewarded by the creak of wheels and the soft chime of harness-buckles ahead of us. As we crept closer I heard the voice of Orlaithe, husky with her usual dry good cheer, and Sadoc answering solemnly. They rolled into view around a bend in the track ahead of us.

Sadoc was a sturdy youth, nearing the age when he would give his oath as a Ranger, as his brother Caradoc had done before him. I had heard my father speak of him at the table one night, of his stout heart and level head. Nearly a man, Ada had said, ready for the grey cloak, and theChieftain had answered, It is sons like him who give me hope.

Orlaithe was my mother's cousin, tall as a man, and all the children in the village admired her, for she could draw a full-weighted longbow, and once at the midsummer games had outshot even old Coru at a hundred paces. She had a daughter, married and settled somewhere to the north. Her husband I had heard no one speak of, but Orlaithe sometimes pinned her cloak with the rayed star and I knew it likely that she, like so many others, was the widow of a Ranger. She was gruff and cheerful and a little frightening, but I liked her.

All day my scheme worked beautifully. We followed them for perhaps eight or nine miles, keeping well back, although the sound of them never faded. We had given up breaking a way through the undergrowth and walked instead along the path, following the wagon-tracks. In the mud nearly-dried I could see the marks of horses where the Rangers had passed days earlier. Sive and I could neither talk nor laugh for fear of discovery, and so I entertained myself by pretending to stalk them, imagining Morien and her heavy feet pressing into the loam, and there, skirting a standing puddle, the smaller hooves of Sael. At one point we passed a place where the men had stopped. Interspersed with the horse-prints were the marks of many boots. I crouched to trace the instep of one perfect print in the damp sand and wondered who it belonged to. Caradoc, I thought, or perhaps short, stocky Feridir.

It was idle tracking, more than half-fanciful, but a mile or so on I saw something that pricked my attention in earnest. Hoofprints, slimmer than the others, and pressed more shallowly. Even with my rudimentary woodcraft I could see that they were fresh. After a hundred yards or so they veered suddenly off the side of the path and into the trees. I paused for a moment, curious and half-tempted to follow them. But what I saw next made me draw up short.

In the soft damp dirt beneath an overhanging elm was a wolf-print the size of my father's mighty hand.

I nearly squeaked at the sight of it. Sive was a few steps behind me and before she drew close I dragged my foot through the dirt. I stomped the track away beneath my heel and turned to her, smiling much too brightly. Disquiet was uncoiling like a serpent in my gut.

"You should have seen the size of that spider," I said, my voice shrill.

Sive stopped and observed me for a moment with her dark brows drawn together in a scowl.

"I'm surprised you didn't try to stab it to death," she muttered as she began again to walk.

Slowly the trees thinned into low brushy hills. We were both beginning to tire, for we had slept little in our excitement the night before, and while the wagon traveled the easy path we were now often obliged to fade from it and clamber through the rocks to avoid being spotted by a chance look back. Somewhere along the way Sive had turned her ankle and was shuffling along with a dark look on her thin face. We had also found the wind when we left the tree-cover and it was no sweet late-summer breeze, but a cold nipping northern that pried down our collars and numbed our fingers and nose-tips.

It was the wind perhaps that kept us from hearing the heavy loping footsteps until I was struck suddenly from behind and knocked to the ground, the breath driven out of me in a great gust. As I scrabbled for my dagger and kicked at my attacker I heard Sive yell and then begin to laugh. I rolled and found my face being bathed foully by an enormous red tongue.

"Fain!" I hissed, grabbing his ruff to push him away and pull myself sitting. He knocked me back again in his exuberance and stood over me, reeking of manure and damp. It was not often I was flat while he stood and I had a fleeting thought of the impossible size of him. This was followed by a brief prayer of thanks that my dog was so good-natured. He could have dragged down a horse if his inclinations were more fearsome.

"You are supposed to be tied up!" I told him fiercely. "You will give us away!"

He made an affectionate sound deep in his chest as he usually did whenever I took a tone with him, and tried to lick my mouth again. I shoved him hard and scrambled to my feet. There was a length of broken rope hanging from his collar.

"You are a bad dog," I said. He swung his heavy tail and grinned at me.

"I am glad he has come," said Sive. "He is frightening, if you do not know him well." She scratched his back where he liked it best and then drew back and sniffed her fingers, crinkling her nose. "He needs a bath, though."

"He will give us away with his stench," I growled as I rummaged in my pack and found my coiled rope. Fain eyed me but did not flee when I snatched his collar and tied him. He was much stronger than me and could have easily pulled away, if he had wished, but he was happy to be with us and my father had trained him well to yield to leading. He looked at me with such adoration in his bright black eyes that my displeasure with him fled. I scrubbed beneath his chin where he was perpetually itchy.

"Be quiet," I told him, and hefted my pack. When we began to walk again he paced alongside me, the long darker guard-hairs along his back and shoulders brushing my flank. He was so tall I could rest my hand on his neck with a bend in my elbow. I realized I too was glad he had come.

A few minutes later Fain turned, bracing his paws against my tugging. His curled tail swayed gently and his ears swept back against his head in welcome. Despite his lack of concern I felt my pulse rise wildly in my throat. I nearly leapt out of my skin when Fain gave a short bark, and a red-headed boy tumbled with a curse out of the undergrowth.

"Halvard!" Sive gasped. "You're supposed to be home in bed!"

I was so astonished that Fain pulled easily through my fingers, trotted to Halvard where he sprawled in the path, and began to lick his ear.

"Gerroff," said Halvard, fending with one hand. The other pressed into his forehead over eyes pinched tightly shut. I knew his head was pounding from the knock I had given it, but I could not summon sympathy enough to keep from stalking towards him with my own hands fisted at my sides.

"How did you find us?" I demanded.

Halvard peered up at me through slitted eyelids. His hair tumbled in wooly sprigs over his bracing hand and for a moment he looked too sick to answer. He was the color of a frog's belly beneath his constellating freckles.

"You've been tramping straight along the road," he said, his weak voice scornful. "A blind man could have followed you."

I looked closer at Fain's trailing rope. "You cut my dog loose, didn't you. So he would lead you to us!"

Halvard had the grace to look a little guilty. "I would have found you anyway," he muttered. "You left a trail like a troll."

I jabbed a rigid finger towards the west. "Go home."

Halvard pushed himself up, his hands bracing on bony knees, and when his back straightened I saw a gloss of sweat above his lip. I realized that over the summer he had grown taller than me. I did not like having to tilt my chin to meet his eye.

"You two are coming back with me," he said. His voice was thin as a thread but I could hear the determination in it. "You'll have everyone in an uproar, running off like this, and with orcs on the hunt. You should thank me for dragging you home before your anadar sends out the hounds."

"We're not going anywhere with you," I said. "Are we, Sive."

Sive honestly seemed to consider it for a moment, which annoyed me enough that I thumped her. She rubbed her arm and looked apologetically at Halvard and opened her mouth to speak. "I think—"

The wolf-voice cut her short. It came ringing on the cold wind and was so close it slid beneath my skin and made my scalp prickle.

An answering snarl rattled in Fain's throat. It was far from the friendly sounds I was used to hearing from him. He was hackled like a boar and looked more fearsome than I had ever seen him. He stared into the low hills. Sive pressed wide-eyed against Halvard's side and he slipped his arm around her shoulders. A long howl rolled again, brushing the hairs on the back of my neck, and for a brief bizarre moment I considered joining her beneath his other arm. I looked ahead and saw Orlaithe and Sadoc standing rigid, the carthorse beside them shifting and staring with its heavy head thrown high.

Then the great wolf burst from the juniper and it was more terrible than anything I had battled in my darkest dreams, gaunt and pale and all but hairless, tendons stretching and sunken between the great muscles of shoulders and loins. It leapt for the scattering carthorse and Orlaithe, tall and fair and fearless, Orlaithe as fierce as a Ranger, foolish, bold Orlaithe, stepped to defend the horse and its burden and the warg—for surely no mere wolf was as enormous, as profanely unafraid—closed its impossible jaws around her middle as if it were a hound and she a soup-bone. I could hear the crunch of ribs and the rend of flesh from where we stood and even as she died Orlaithe drove her blade into the sinewy neck and I could watch no longer, for Sive had begun to scream my name.

And not at the sight of Orlaithe in her last battle. Sive was looking away into the hills and I followed her gaze and saw the others coming, a pair as vast and single-minded as the first that bounded over the rocks, coming stride upon stride in impossible leaps, near enough now I could see the sinew the flat, hungry light in their pale eyes.

Then Halvard drove his palm hard between my shoulder blades.

"Run, you fool, don't just stand there!" he cried, pulling Sive behind him. He had her knife in his hand and he shoved me again, pushing Sive after me, and I needed no further bidding. I snatched Sive's wrist and ran. I ran until my chest shot through with searing pain and my lungs burned like bellows and my legs felt weak as winter stalks. When Sive tripped and faltered I wrenched her upright and hauled her after me. She was sobbing, crying words I did not take the time to listen to, until finally my body told me I would have to slow or suffer revolt. Sive's words became clearer, even through her tears and shuddering cries—a dream, just a dream, oh please, only a dream. Over and again she said it, until it seemed that she begged, and then I did something I immediately hated myself for.

I slapped my friend, hard enough that her head snapped back. "Be quiet!" I said savagely. "Or I will leave you for them!"

She stared at me through eyes grown huge with sudden shock and pain, her hand hovering alongside her cheekbone where already I could see my fingermarks rising red on her pale skin. She whimpered once, and then the grating memory of what we had just witnessed must have flooded behind her eyes, because she sank to her knees in the grass and fell forward and began to weep, her fingernails scraping into the dirt.

"It killed her!" she cried. "It killed Orlaithe and we left Sadoc and Halvard and it likely killed them too, and we should have never left home, oh Eluned, why did we leave home? We will die out here!"

"Be quiet," I said again, but with less malice, for I could feel Sive's panic spreading like poison in my belly. "Sive, please be quiet so I can think!" I cast myself down beside her, put my arm over her thin back. "Please, Sive, I'm sorry, I should not have struck you, please, we must be silent or we will draw them to us!" I looked around wildly, at low brushy hills and bare rock, away to the distant dark line of the wood. Beyond it over leagues we had already traveled lay home and safety. But we had run east and north, further away from where we should be, and now unspeakable terror barred our way. I realized Fain was not with us and my stomach twisted. He weighed as much as slender man and could outrun a hare, but he was no match for the malevolent giants we had seen, those hellhounds with their lifeless eyes. He would be torn down like a lamb. Like Orlaithe.

I found myself unable to conjure coherent thought, beyond the irrational desire to whistle for Fain, call out to him on the chanting wind.

Then it came to us again, that deadly hunting-call, and away to the south an answering voice like the knell of an unholy bell.

"We must keep running," I whispered, tugging Sive to her feet. I remembered my dagger and drew it, but as we began to run again it hampered me and I floundered for the sheath at my hip, fumbled the blade into it. I tried to angle west, west towards the village, but the rocks and the lay of the hills and the fell voices behind us seemed to herd us north, and more alarmingly, east. East where the Bruinen lay, where our folk were under attack.

East towards the Rangers. I felt a feeble flare of hope.

But we could not run forever. Sive's twisted ankle was swelling in her boot and weariness was beginning to shadow her eyes. I do not know how far we had gone when she buckled against a low rock and would not go on. I was shamefully relieved; her weakness allowed for my own respite, one I sorely needed. I could not have gone much further myself.

It was there the hunters found us. The wind changed and my nostrils filled with the cloy of decay and another strange, stale odor, like the musk of a stoat. The skin along my spine began to shift and tingle. I turned to see them as they slipped over the crest of a hill, heads slung low between slated shoulder blades. I fumbled for my dagger, yanked it free with a soft rasp. Sive whimpered, but she scrambled to her feet and came and stood beside me. She had found a pair of jagged stones and she stood with her shoulder against my arm and her feet set wide. She was trembling. I could see the silent moving of her lips from the corner of my eye.

The wargs slunk closer. They were near enough now that I could see the flat yellow eyes, the weeping sores and abscesses where limbs met bodies, the shredding scars across their snouts and down their rolling shoulders. I could see the loll of black tongues behind broken, rotting teeth. I felt Sive hitch her arm back to throw and my clutching fingers on my dagger's hilt grew slick.

The leaner one broke into a slinking lope. Sive's first rock flew wide.

The gaunt she-wolf coiled to cross the final yards and I heard the thunder of my heart like hoofbeats in my chest, felt a name on my lips like a plea.

Elbereth…

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