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Chapter Two
"Jarrod," Strider acknowledged, reining in his horse.
"How does young Captain Darson fare?" Captain Jarrod inquired.
"He is fine…now," Strider sighed.
Legolas pulled Railious up beside Jarrod's own horse. Strider's head snapped towards him instantly and Captain Jarrod's face hardened.
"What are you doing, Elf Prince?" Jarrod snapped before Legolas could speak.
"I…" the Elf started.
"Back in line," Captain Jarrod ordered.
Legolas nodded glumly and turned Railious back to his position. Strider watched him leave eyeing the Elf warily.
"You take Elf recruits?" Strider asked.
"No, he found us and joined. Said he was looking for you," Captain Jarrod stated dryly.
"Oh?" Strider replied, a slight hint of suspicion edging his curiosity.
"Yes, Glen says he's fine, but he only found us last night," Captain Jarrod commented, "so we don't know much about him."
"Do you know how long he has been in Eriador?" Strider questioned.
"A couple of months, maybe three by now…why?"
"We can talk later…when we camp."
Captain Jarrod arched his eyebrow but asked nothing else of the quiet Ranger. The patrol continued through the day, scouting usual orc hideouts and helping secure small villages. Arathorn had organized the companies into routine patrols of the Downs before he had died.
Legolas glanced at Strider wonderingly. The young Ranger was not very tall, about 5" 11" and had chin-length brown hair. His posture showed confidence and yet cautiousness and he swayed back and forth. The Elf had only gotten a brief glance at the man's face but he had seen honor and courage as well as something deeper. Something he had felt when his mother had died, grief. Heartbreaking, agonizing grief.
"You okay?" Glen's voice broke through the memory.
"Err…yes," Legolas replied snapping back to the present.
"Okay…" Glen replied, unconvinced.
They rode on in silence, Glen occasionally glancing over at the Elf, whose mood had turned melancholy. The morning passed and the Rangers ate a quick, cold midday meal before returning to their saddles. The afternoon dragged by and Strider rode up and down the lines, inspecting the men. Sometimes he would stop and ask Captain Jarrod questions about the new recruits but most of the time he watched every man in the patrol.
Evening approached and the sky was adorned with robes of red and blue as the sun descended into the west. Inky darkness replaced the brilliant robes and twinkling stars stared down at the group of Rangers setting up tents and building fires.
Legolas piled a bundle of twigs onto the quickly rising flame, which licked at the dry sticks eagerly. He glanced over to the fire where Captain Jarrod and Strider discussed something in low tones, too low for even his Elven ears to pick up.
Strider toyed with a stick as he listened to Jarrod's report. The news he had to share with Jarrod weighed heavily on his mind.
"…and you know the rest," Captain Jarrod finished. "Now what did you want to tell me earlier?"
"You lost your Second in that skirmish a month back didn't you?" Strider asked.
"Yes, I've been training Mikal to take his place," Jarrod informed. "Why?"
"You can't tell the men, but," Strider sighed, "there have been murders in the other Dunedain camps. I want the other patrols to be prepared."
"What?" Captain Jarrod exclaimed, his voice tinged with astonishment.
"Captain Darson was killed last week," Strider related.
Jarrod's face fell, "a pity. Darson was a good man."
"That's not all; Captain Hillman and his second were killed in a skirmish two weeks ago," Strider said. "I think this murderer is taking down the patrols. The only targets are leaders, Captains or their seconds…sometimes a third."
"Why do you think there is a murderer?" Captain Jarrod questioned.
"Captain Darson was found dead in his tent, traces in his ale cup suggested that poison was used. There was no sign of struggle or strangling," Strider notified.
"What can we do to prevent more deaths?" Captain Darson inquired, a worry wrinkle forming in his forehead.
"Keep your eyes on the new recruits. We don't want the murderer sneaking into a camp. Also up your sentries on the perimeters. Don't alert the troops; just tell them there is a large band of orcs abroad," Strider ordered. "I'll try to find this murderer, and take him down."
"Be careful, Strider," Jarrod warned, "this murderer is no orc if he uses poison in that manner."
"Don't worry, Jarrod, I'm young, but not inexperienced," Strider smiled.
"Well," Captain Jarrod groaned as he got up, "I should check on the sentries."
Strider nodded and watched his mentor walk to the edge of camp. Sighing, he also rose and paced through the scattered fires. He stopped in front of a glittering fire where the Ranger Glen and Legolas sat talking in low tones. Shaking his head, he moved away to the edge of camp. At that moment, a sentry appeared followed by a young man leading a horse.
"A messenger from the North Downs!" the sentry shouted.
Men whooped and gathered around the messenger, talking eagerly. Legolas glanced at Glen, whose eyes sparkled with excitement.
"Expecting a letter?" Legolas grinned.
"Aye," Glen piped, "from the fairest maid in all of Middle Earth! Don't tell on me now," Glen concluded with a wink before bounding up to join the throng around the overwhelmed messenger.
Legolas watched, amused, as the mortal's excitement broke the grimness of the patrol. The Elf Prince noticed Baroth, the quiet recruit, accept his letter slowly and move to a fire close to Legolas'. The young ranger opened the letter, taking out a small packet before tossing the rest of the letter into the fire. Baroth glanced up as the parchment turned a bright red, noticing for the first time the observing Elf.
"My father hates my chosen profession," Baroth explained, fingering the packet. "I always burn his tear me down if I read them. My sister keeps me informed on the family doings," he finished, fingering the packet.
Legolas nodded; he could hardly imagine a father writing so negatively to his son. True, his own father was cold at times, but they had agreed to keep their father-son relationship in the confines of their private quarters.
Baroth moved on, disappearing into the shadows and Glen returned, grasping a thin sheet of paper in his hands.
"Well Legolas," he sighed contentedly, "life is good! My sweet Adele has sent me this fine letter of her love, coated with her sweet rosewater perfume!"
"I'll leave you alone to read, lover boy," Legolas laughed.
Rising, the Elf strolled through the fires, humming a starlight song under his breath. The messenger galloped off with a message to the Captain of the second patrol. Legolas hardly jumped when Strider approached.
"So you are Thranduil's son," Strider commented.
"Yes, I am," Legolas answered.
"My father once knew the Elvenking," Strider said softly, "he is a good leader."
Legolas didn't reply, but nodded solemnly.
"I am sorry for your loss," the Elf said suddenly.
Strider felt a lump rise in his throat, he tried not to think of Arathorn, who had quickly become a second father to him. His death had been the second most powerful blow to his short life. Since Gilraen left, he had taken over leadership amongst the Rangers.
"Thank you," Strider breathed.
"How long did you know him?" Legolas questioned.
"Since I was 10; that was 30 years ago now," Strider sighed.
"Do you have any more family?" the Elf continued.
"My mother still lives on Evendim's shores," Strider informed. "I don't have any siblings."
The messenger stopped his horse and pushed it into the brush alongside the time-worn path. Bending down among the brambles he watched the road carefully. His eyes caught the frog jumping in the dust and the owl swooping down upon its prey, but not the shadow creeping up beside him.
"The poison is in the letter, is it not?" the low voice of the Bloody Handed growled, making the messenger jump.
"Yes sir!" the frightened messenger piped. "You have all that you asked for."
The Bloody Handed smiled and stood up, towering sever inches above the messenger. Carefully, the assassin's gloved fingers curved around his dagger's sheath, but the messenger happened to see the subtle movement. Slowly, the messenger back away, raising his hands defensively.
"I did what you told me to…" the messenger stammered.
"Yes you did," the Bloody Handed purred, "now you are of no use to me."
The messenger's eyes widened as cold steel passed between his ribs and into his heart. Spluttering black blood, the messenger turned his fading eyes on the assassin and glared before collapsing to the ground, convulsing.
"There, little bird, now your swift wings are clipped and your chattering beak is shut forever," the Bloody Handed laughed.
The assassin wiped his blade clean on the dead messenger's tunic before disappearing into the shadows. One deed was finished, another had yet to come.
Strider stopped. He was talking more about himself than he had since Arathorn had died. He could feel his heart opening to this Woodland Elf. They had talked long into the night, even after the camp retired for the night, stopping only for a minute so Strider could order Glen to stand watch at Captain Jarrod's tent.
Strider smiled as Legolas described a party suddenly broken by the entrance of a large company of spiders.
"I fear I need to sleep now," Strider yawned.
"I will walk with you," Legolas offered getting up.
They walked silently back through the camp, the fires were fading to low glimmers, but one fire provided enough light to illuminate the slumped over form of Glen.
"He's asleep," Strider grumbled, diverting from his path to wake the sleeping guard.
Legolas watched as Strider shook Glen several times to wake the sleeping guard, but it was to no avail. The Elf's keen glance found a wooden cup lying on its side, its contents spilt upon the ground. Bending over, Legolas picked the cup up and ran his finger around its bottom where a faint white clump lay. Sniffing it, he turned to Strider and showed him what he had found.
"Sleeping dust," Strider said slowly. "Oh no…"
Swiftly, Strider threw back the tent flap then staggered backwards in shock. Captain Jarrod lay on the ground, eyes wide open and lifeless. A cup sat a few inches from his sprawled hand, now a deadly shade of white. Blood trickled down from his pallid lips and onto the ground.
"He's…dead…" Legolas stammered, his eyes filled with horror.
Uh oh, the Bloody Handed strikes again! Who is he?