Chapter Seven
26th February
Northern Ithilien
The man was a King's messenger.
Sevilodorf was certain of that.
Though he wore no uniform or device proclaiming his service to Elessar, she had not the slightest doubt of his occupation. He was simply too poised, too sure of himself, and too perfectly casual to be an ordinary man. Furthermore, as the regular evening delivery of dispatches had arrived before dinner, his could only be a special errand.
Therefore it was increasingly strange that he did not make any move beyond the seat he had taken by the window nearly half an hour ago. Halbarad and Bob were both in plain sight arguing over a 'friendly' game of Tabbacus. No signal had passed between this stranger and their Ranger Captain that she had seen. Yet, both were studiously ignoring each other.
Whatever was the man doing here?
The obvious answer was in the kitchen behind her, so she carefully closed her ledger book and rose from her seat. The stranger glanced idly at her then turned back to his mug of ale. Sev checked the smile that formed at that action, for it was his seeming indifference to the Troll's unlikely bartender that had first brought the man to Sev's attention. Only someone familiar with the inn should have been able to react like that to the sight of an actual, living, smoking, albeit runty balrog; and this man was unknown to her and, even more damning, to the hobbits. Therefore, she reasoned, his relaxed attitude could only stem from careful preparedness, which only a man in the King's service would do.
Gathering the teapot and cup onto a small tray, Sev headed for the kitchen. When she pushed through the door, her disappointment at finding only Meri, Camellia and the elf Aerio must have been obvious. Aerio had both hands busy rinsing dishes, but Meri smiled and clutched her dish towel as she pointed to the back door.
"He's gone that a way." Nor was there any need to elaborate which "he" she spoke of.
"You let him escape?" Sev said with asperity. "Kitchen chores are part of the bargain he made."
"Oh, he's doing kitchen chores. He's taking the scraps out to the compost heap," Meri said with a grin. Then taking up a damp cloth, she clambered onto a stool and scrubbed at the corner of Sev's mouth. "You need to stop chewing on your pens." The hobbit lass peered at her handiwork before hopping back onto the floor.
"Yes, Mother." Sev looked down with patient resignation as the hobbit went on to brush at a stain on her tunic.
Giving the taller Rohirrim woman a gentle push toward the door, Meri said slyly, "Why don't you go see what he's up to?"
Rolling her eyes as the two hobbits giggled and Aerio smirked, Sev said, "I'll do just that."
Then a wicked whisper of amusement struck, and pausing with the door half-open, she added, "By the way, the man sitting at the table near the window seemed a trifle lonely. Maybe you should try to cheer him up. Maybe sing a song or two for him, Cam?"
"That's a wonderful idea, Sevi. Music's just the thing to lift the spirits," Camellia responded gaily. "As soon as we finish here we'll do our best to cheer him up."
"That should do him a world of good," Sev replied lightly.
Wondering just exactly how the man would react to the well-meaning hobbits, she pulled the door closed and halted on the back steps for a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness. A light glowed dimly behind the curtains of Meri and Erin's room and cast a faint rectangle of light on the path to the barn. Another path ran straight ahead toward the garden.
"Fifty-fifty," she muttered. With that she started toward the barn, figuring that Anardil would have chosen to take the longest time possible with this chore, in hopes of avoiding others.
Anardil had not been exactly thrilled to learn that Sev's trader's instinct for bargains extended into her personal life, at least in this instance. In return for the pony biscuits he needed to bribe Warg to perform the duties of chaperone, Sev had demanded his services as kitchen maid. Amidst fumbling astonishment he had argued that his time at the Troll could not be foreseen. He might be called to Minas Tirith within a few days, or sent on to Dorwinion or the Sea of Rhûn to follow up on the information they had discovered during their trip to the Ash Mountains. But Sev had held firm.
Kitchen chores were not on the top of her list of favorite activities; and if she were to be forced to accept Warg as a chaperone whenever she left the Troll, she deserved to get something good from it. With a great deal of reluctance, Anardil had finally agreed to three evenings of duty in the kitchen for each small bag of pony biscuits Sev distributed. He would perform his duties each evening he was in residence at the Troll until all of his time had been completed. Mumbling something about the decree of limitations on the collection of debts, he reported for his first evening of dish washing, plate scraping and table wiping with a stoic expression.
The comedic spectacle of a tall ex-Ranger realigning salt tubs and honey pots just so on the tables per Camellia's directions was almost too much, but Sev had kept her own face carefully neutral. After all, she wished to at least keep some points on her side before informing him that her choice of escort in Henneth Annûn was to be Erin the hobbit. Anyway, knowing the hobbits, only a short time would pass before he discovered that the job did have certain benefits: the kitchen helpers got fed toffee nuts and other special tidbits.
Approaching the barn, Sev saw no light or sign that Anardil had come this way.
"Nmad," she said, turning to go back and take the garden path.
"Sevi," a familiar voice called softly, and she whirled about to stare up at the dark opening above the barn doors.
Virtually invisible in the shadows, Anardil sat leaning against the frame of the upper hayloft door.
A teasing remark about boys who hid in haylofts to escape their chores rose to her lips. But then the thought of the stranger by the window and his probable mission at the Troll intervened, and she bit back the words.
Craning her head back, she asked, "Are you coming down, or shall I come up?"
Not giving him time to respond, she went in. Knowing every inch of the barn, she needed no light to make her way to the loft ladder. Climbing quickly, she considered how such an act would have been different for a one armed man. But the loss of his arm seldom stopped Anardil from doing exactly what he set out to do.
"I'll warn you that Meri has issued a strict proclamation forbidding residents from sleeping in the barn."
Anardil snorted slightly and replied, "I have more sense than to do battle with Meri. Besides I have a much softer place to rest my head than a pile of hay."
"That you do," Sev answered easily. "At last count, there were four feather pillows upon your bed."
"I wasn't referring to the pillows," he said, smiling with a smoldering look that caused Sev's breath to catch and a rush of warmth to surge through her.
"Come sit with me." Anardil nodded to the place beside him. "I've something to show you."
Sev laughed as she settled beside him. "I haven't been invited to come see something in a hayloft for years."
"Then you've been dealing with the wrong sort of men," he said with a teasing leer that set her laughing again. "However, if that's the way your thoughts are running, I fear this will be a disappointment."
He scooped a mere handful of fur from his lap and placed it gently in hers.
"A kitten." Lifting it up to rub against her cheek, she said, "I didn't know any of our cats were expecting. Where did this little one come from? It's not very old."
"I found it by the compost pile. It does seem a little young to be separated from its mother. I'd hoped to find mama or at least its litter mates up here."
The little animal nuzzled Sev's face and immediately began purring. "We'll have to take it into the kitchen for a while and give it some special attention."
"Everything that enters that kitchen gets special attention."
At the unexpected edge in his voice Sev looked up from cuddling the kitten, and examined his face as closely as the shadows allowed.
"Did they truly drive you to distraction? They mean well, but it can be overwhelming at first."
Running his hand through his hair, he replied, "I did not realize how solitary a creature I had become. But…"
Filling in the rest, Sev settled the kitten in her lap. "But a little bit of hobbity enthusiasm can go a long way."
She spared a moment of thought for the fellow that she had sent the hobbits to entertain. How was he handling their overtures of friendship? She knew she should tell Anardil immediately about the man; but a selfish part of her wanted a bit more time with him before the world intruded to drag him away. She was only too aware that their mission to the Ash Mountains had been a special situation. Neither Anardil nor Lord Faramir was going to let her go trailing along on a trip to Rhûn, especially after learning that the eastern warlords were beginning to venture into Gondor's territory. Sev sighed inwardly. Would there never truly be peace?
"Yes." Anardil said, and for a moment Sev was hard pressed to reclaim the thread of the conversation. "But as you said, they mean well."
"If it's too wearing, you don't have to do the kitchen chores."
With a soft chuckle, Anardil shook his head in disbelief. "And have you take a loss on the bargain? Why, Sevi, what would your cousin, Esiwmas, say?"
"I never said you wouldn't have to pay," Sev exclaimed, and with her kitten-less hand tapped his chest. "Just that you don't have to do kitchen chores."
She tried to keep her voice light and teasing. If she allowed herself to dwell on the fact that he would soon be leaving, she might begin a quarrel just to ease the hurt. It would seem that it was to remain her fate to endure the uncertainty of waiting.
However, no matter how much she inwardly raged, she was determined to present a different face to the world, and to Anardil. She had made her choice, and would stand by it. A King's Man was what he was and always would be. He would go wherever duty required. But, and this was the belief that allowed her to meet the coming separations with some semblance of rationality, he would take her with him whenever possible.
"And what exactly did you have in mind?" Anardil said warily. "Having learned my lesson, albeit slowly, I would hear the terms before I agree."
"Very well, here are my terms. In return for my agreeing to accept Warg as chaperone whenever I leave the grounds of The Burping Troll, and for supplying the pony biscuits for her payment, I expect …" Sev paused dramatically.
"Out with it, Sevi," he growled in mock anger as the silence lengthened.
"I'm just trying to word it correctly… Ouch!" She yelped as he pinched her waist, but continued her thought. "Ah yes, I want to be cuddled, not cosseted. I do not want to be pampered, though back scrubbing is allowable. But most of all, I want…" she reached up and traced the line of his jaw lightly, "you."
He leaned into her hand then turned to kiss her palm. "I think we can reach an amicable agreement here."
Her pulse leaped at the soft feel of his lips, the gentle rasp of stubble.
"Merely amicable? I was hoping for something a little more…enthusiastic."
"That can be arranged."
He lowered his head and caught her lips in a kiss that startled her with its intensity. The kitten gave a squeak as he pulled her toward him, and Sev jerked as needle sharp claws pierced fabric.
Accepting the kitten after Sev had pried it free, Anardil said, "Sorry, little one."
"Are you apologizing to the cat or to me?" Sev asked, rubbing ruefully at her thigh.
"The cat. He's the one who got squashed."
Ignoring Sev's indignant exclamation, Anardil carried the kitten to a pile of hay where he settled it gently into a small nest. Stroking it slowly he murmured softly in Elvish.
"Now what? Magic spells?" Sev asked with a laugh, as she climbed to her feet brushing chaff from her trousers and tunic.
Keeping his voice low and continuing to stroke the tiny creature, which had resumed purring loudly, Anardil replied, "Just making sure we won't be disturbed again."
"Oh, really?" Sev said, leaning over him with a lift of her eyebrows. "And what makes you think…"
She gasped as he suddenly abandoned the kitten to wrap her in a fierce one-armed embrace. His mouth descended on hers, demanding that she yield to him. After only a half-hearted protest, she did.
xxx
The stars glittered overhead and the last light of day grew dim in the west, as two figures walked hand-in-hand towards the inn. Where lamplight spilled across the grass from a front window they paused to face each other.
Brushing another strand of hay from his shoulder, Sev said, "You might tell that not-so-secret messenger that the normal reaction to meeting the Balrog is a bit more extreme than a mere, 'make it a dark, if you've got it'."
"That it is," Anardil chuckled, remembering his own graceless reaction to seeing the Troll's bartender for the first time. "It would have been much more appropriate for him to scream and fall flat on his face."
"More than one person has," Sev replied mildly, and then looked up at him, fingers still on his shoulder. "Am I forgiven for not informing you of his arrival immediately?"
Catching her hand, he carried it to his lips. His grey eyes smiled his clemency as he softly kissed her fingers, for he understood only too well why she had delayed. He felt the same selfish reluctance to allowing the world's intrusion upon their time together.
"From the looks of things, it is not my pardon you must ask." His smile took on a wry cant as Anardil nodded toward the front window.
There a man wearing a look of dazed amazement sat surrounded by the four hobbits. The un-secret messenger, it seemed, had not reckoned with just how vigorously hobbits would endeavor to make a wandering stranger feel welcome.
"Oh dear. I do feel so sorry for him," she responded, with a snort that belied her words.
Touching her nose with a fingertip, Anardil chided gently, "Be polite. He's just doing his job."
"The fact that he's here to deliver a message that will probably take you away is not what irritates me most." Sev scowled as he withdrew his finger. "But that he assumes we are all so unobservant not to realize there is something strange about a man who doesn't react to a Balrog, and who sits in the common room of an inn on the edges of nowhere, with no clear explanation of where he came from or why he's here. Why is it that you Rangers don't give the common people more credit for brains?"
"Peace, Sevi. Let me go rescue him from the hobbits." Anardil cocked his head to observe her reaction. "May I take him back to our room? It would be a trifle more private than the barn."
Sev's curiosity was aroused by the request, but she squashed it firmly to respond, "Of course; give me a couple of minutes to get the basket for the kitten, then you can have the place to yourself. I assume you don't want to make it obvious you are the reason he is here, as he's gone to such extreme measures to keep the fact secret."
Her own smile became ironic, as Sev pointed to the window where Milo now appeared to be reciting a poem. At least one presumed that's what the hobbit lad was doing, standing there with his hands clasped in his back, rocking back on his heels and speaking at great length towards the ceiling.
"It would be best. We might need to come up with a better scheme for the delivery of the more private dispatches." As the sound of the hobbit's voice rising and falling, drifted through the window, he added wryly, "If only to protect the messengers from the hobbits."
"Or the hobbits from the messenger? You better get in there; he looks as if he's had all he can take."
Sev walked away but Anardil indulged himself by waiting until, with a low laugh and soft murmurs to the kitten, which had begun to mewl hungrily, she disappeared around the corner of the building. He listened for her light tread toward their room behind Celebsul's workshop, before turning back to the tableau presented in the window. There he wondered idly how 'secret' a meeting could be, that was the common knowledge of four hobbits, a Rohirrim healer, two Rangers, a balrog and who knew how many elves. The better course would have been for the messenger to simply ask to speak with him. Though everyone would have known of the meeting, no one would have thought much about it. Now, however, he was certain that curiosity would keep many an active brain from sleep tonight.
Some careful thinking would be needed to determine if it were possible to manage the secrecy his work required with the openness of The Burping Troll. It was entirely possible that he would have to set up base in Henneth Annûn instead.
Ah, well, as he had told Sevi before, they would take things slowly for a time. First, he needed to go rescue the king's messenger.
xxx
"Sev… come get this thing. It's trying to eat my pie."
"I'll be there in a minute." The faint reply drifted hollowly through the open door to the cellar.
"Hurry, will you? It's attacking."
The steady thump of boots on the cellar steps heralded Sev's return. As did the exasperated snort she gave, as she reached the top step to see the problem. Bob was seated at the kitchen table fending off a black and white kitten with one hand, while steadfastly shoveling pie in his mouth with the other. The kitten, it appeared, refused to let a tall grim Ranger intimidate it in the slightest. Even as she watched, the tiny thing pounced to wrap itself around his hand like a furry animated glove.
"Ow!" he cried, and clenched his teeth as he delicately peeled the kitten loose.
"Honestly, Bob. It's only a kitten. A battle-hardened Ranger such as yourself should certainly be able to withstand its assault."
Bob eyed with distaste the kitten, which was now batting a piece of pie crust across the table.
"Not without hurting it, I can't."
"Don't you dare," exclaimed Sev, and quickly replaced the pie crust with a scrap of dried beef.
"Then keep it out of my plate. Hey! You come back here with that!" Bob shouted, as the kitten absconded with his napkin. "Sevi, it's swarming!"
With a patient sigh Sev rescued the napkin and tossed it back at Bob. Thereupon she scooped up the kitten and plopped it into a round basket she had brought from her room. The kitten blinked at its rapid change of locations, but settled down to wrestle with the scrap of soft cloth lining the inside of the basket.
"I tried that," Bob said in response to the pointed look Sev gave him. "It kept crawling out."
Shaking her head with exasperation, Sev retreated into the pantry and began her next task, an inventory of its contents. If Anardil was being called to Minas Tirith as he thought, she might as well travel with him as far as Henneth Annûn to collect supplies for the Troll. For a few moments the only sounds were her mutterings about how the hobbits managed to use more sugar than anyone she had ever met, the scrape of Bob's fork upon his plate and the rhythmic thumping of the kitten rolling about inside the basket.
Then the back door clicked open, and Sev stuck her head out to see Anardil enter. The nod he gave her was answer enough to the question in her eyes. With a sinking heart, but the determination to keep a calm exterior, Sev emerged from the pantry. Uncertain what to ask, though, she glanced at Bob, now finishing his second piece of pie - the first was berry, this was pumpkin - then back at Anardil.
However, Anardil waved off her concern. "Gilrad was being overly cautious. There's nothing here that anyone couldn't know." He reached to break off a piece of Bob's pie crust and popped it in his mouth. "I am requested to report to the Grand Council at my earliest possible convenience."
"So you are leaving tonight or tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow will be soon enough." He grinned roguishly at Sev, and then Bob. "Though Gilrad declined our hospitality for the evening. He said something about road crews being quieter camp mates."
Sev laughed as Bob remarked, "Hal and I wondered whether ol' Gilrad was going to sit there all evening, or finally break down and ask for you. We figured Sev had gone to get you, but then the two of you didn't come back. And…" The Ranger shrugged.
"And by that time you and Hal were having too much fun watching him suffer -." Anardil said, settling into the seat beside his friend, "beneath the overly enthusiastic ministrations of the hobbits."
Bob grinned unashamedly. "We certainly were. What took you so long, anyway? Not that it wasn't worth it. You should have seen Gilrad listening to Milo's rendition of that poem about the trolls."
The answer for their tardiness was no business but their own, and Sev kept her face carefully blank. She did not dare to look at Anardil as Bob turned an amused eye on first one then the other.
"I wanted Sev to see the kitten," Anardil explained, with an easiness that Sev had to admire.
He even sweetened the alibi by dipping his finger into the basket to caress the tiny creature's head. However, she held little hope that Bob would let the matter drop.
After licking pie filling thoroughly from his fork - and losing the last bite to Anardil's quick fingers - Bob grinned broadly. "Looking at kittens, is that what it's called now?"
Lifting her chin, Sev stared down at Bob. "Is that what what's called now? Need I remind you of the demon you've been fighting off for the last half hour?"
She pointed to the basket, where the kitten had lost the battle with the cloth and fallen asleep with one white paw over its face.
"True," Bob replied thoughtfully. "I'll give you full points for credibility. However, speaking from experience…"
Folding her arms and tapping her fingers on her sleeves, Sev continued to glare at the Ranger as he stood. Never losing his impish grin, he chucked her under the chin with one finger. Resisting the urge to bite that finger, Sev simply waited for him to finish.
"I would advise that in the future, you be more careful about brushing the chaff from your back."
Anardil snorted once, then stifled any further outbursts as Sev turned a bright red and gave Bob a solid shove in the chest.
"A gentleman would not bring the matter up," she said through clenched teeth.
Then she grinned evilly as he lost his footing, stumbled backwards and tipped over the chair with a crash. Giving Anardil a narrow-eyed look, Sev snatched up the basket with the kitten and marched out the back door.
Both men winced as the slam rattled the crockery in the cupboard, whereupon Anardil ruefully shook his head at Bob.
"As long as you've known her, old friend, you still underestimate her."
In return Bob merely shrugged an apology, righted the chair and resumed his seat - just as Meri rushed in from the hallway.
"What was that noise?" she exclaimed.
"Nothing to worry about Meri," Bob replied soothingly. "I just knocked over the chair."
Hands on hips, Meri looked from one man to the other then at the back door. Clicking her tongue at their oh-so-innocent expressions, she said firmly, "Bob, you are a rascal, so I know there's more to it than that. And Anardil, you ought not quarrel with Sevi on the night before you leave."
Quietly Anardil asked, "Who said I was leaving?"
Dismissively Meri waved a hand. "Who else could that have been but a messenger for you? Which room did you put him in?"
"He decided not to stay."
"Oh, well, he did seem in an awful hurry. But you and Sev took so long looking at the kitten that -." Meri frowned as Bob dissolved into a helpless fit of laughter. "What's the matter with you, Bob?"
"Ignore him," Anardil said smoothly. "There's nothing wrong with him that one of Sev's tonics won't cure, Meri. And you're right, Gilrad was in rather a hurry. He did tell me to give you his thanks for an entertaining evening."
"Gilrad. I'll remember that, for when he comes back. Are you through with those, Bob?"
Without waiting for a reply, Meri swept up the Ranger's fork and empty plate and carried them to the sink. Then she turned with a hand over her mouth in dismay.
"Oh my, was that something we aren't supposed to talk about? I mean, are we not supposed to know who he is?"
Anardil kicked Bob smartly in the shins to silence the fresh burst of laughter that convulsed him. Pain was a rather handy aid in turning laughter into a cough.
"Don't you worry about it, Meri. If he comes back, just fetch me, or Hal."
The hobbit lass nodded happily. "Then I'll bid you good night. And don't dirty up any more dishes."
"Good night, Meri," Bob wheezed, mashing his knuckles against his teeth lest Anardil kick him any harder.
"Good night, Meri," echoed Anardil. "Sev and I will be heading for Henneth Annûn early in the morning."
Mouth forming a little O, Meri paused in the doorway. "Then I'd better tell Erin. She'll need to be ready."
Anardil's face went blank with utter shock. "Why would Erin need to be ready?"
Smiling brightly, Meri said, "Oh, Sevi asked her to go with her whenever she goes to Henneth Annûn. Erin's been wanting a little adventure, didn't you know?"
"No," Anardil responded thoughtfully. "I didn't."
"Well, she has. Though going to Henneth Annûn is not exactly my idea of an adventure. The most exciting thing I've heard of lately was a herd of pigs loose in the marketplace!" Meri laughed at the thought.
"One can only hope," Anardil muttered, his hand going up to rub his temple, rather as if he were growing a headache.
Meri looked at him in confusion then shrugged. Big People were hard to understand sometimes. "Good night, then."
"Good night," Bob repeated, having recovered his composure.
As the hobbit's soft footsteps padded away, Anardil drummed his fingers on the table. When she had gone, he closed his eyes wearily.
"I take it she didn't tell you." Bob's voice was suddenly serious.
The Ranger had heard Halbarad and Anardil debating the possible effects of Lord Darien's petition and knew that they were both concerned about Sev traveling about alone. Her association and trade with the orcs had become a little too well-known and one could not be sure what unpleasant attention she might garner. He also knew that he was very happy not to be the one to try to convince Sev that a hobbit did not qualify as a bodyguard.
"No," Anardil answered tersely. "But it might just be time for a conversation on the matter."
Bob nodded soberly as his friend stood and, with a short 'good night', went out through the kitchen door.
Turning the lamp down low, Bob imagined the exchange that would shortly take place in the room behind the workshop. With a sudden wry grin, he decided that it was just as well that the couple had enjoyed their frolic earlier - before Anardil heard of Sev's choice of traveling companion.
xxx
27th February
Somewhere near the Druadan Forest
Padric trudged down the little path with a bucket in his hand and a limp in his stride; despite the continuing clemency of the weather, these chilly mornings just crawled right into that bad knee of his. However, this had nearly become a part of his morning chores, so the grizzled woodcutter continued down towards the stand of thin grey saplings that lined the stream bank. Behind him the chimney of his house smoked gently and on the porch, two dogs idly watched him go then dropped their chins to their paws. They also had become familiar with the routine and they knew that Master did not want them to fright the creature to whom the bucket would go.
Strange thing, that, and Padric could never quite sort out how it came about. Man alone like he was had to be careful, and when one day the dogs went off barking up a fury, he had grabbed his sharpest ax and stomped off to see what was the matter. The matter was an orc, and in all the generations of meetings between orcs and men there had been only one ending. Yet this was no orc like any he had seen or heard of. The creature was bent and scrawny and trying fruitlessly to find shelter in a bramble bush to escape the dogs' frantic haranguing. Padric swung his ax up to finish the thing … and could not let it fall. He could see its ribs, the angular shift of collarbone and shoulder blades under skin like bleached leather and the tattered remnants of some sort of clothing. A swollen, oozing gash in its leg might be one reason for its miserable condition. The creature just lay there and stared up at him with utterly empty eyes, and the only movement was in the clawed bones of its hands, twitching without thought or governance.
So Padric had called the dogs off, shouldered his ax and walked away. That was nigh on two months ago and it should have ended there, but had not. A few days later he paused in his wood-splitting to have his lunch in the thin winter sunshine, and the dogs started growling again. He looked up, and saw movement in the brush towards the creek. It was the orc, hunched like a hare just a twitch from running, and it stared at the fat sandwich in his hand. Padric never knew what prompted him, but he had gotten up, bid the dogs to heel, and walked down to leave the sandwich at the edge of the wood. Of course the orc had fled the moment he stood up, but the sandwich was gone moments later.
Since then… well, he sometimes had leftovers to spare and the dogs were fat, so every two or three days he trekked down to the stream and left whatever gleanings his small kitchen could provide. Sometimes he saw the orc, sometimes not, but it seemed to prosper even on the little Padric had to share and somehow that ugly wound healed.
Now he squinted ahead through the thin ranks of trees, hearing the gurgle of the stream just beyond and his own padded footsteps, softened by a thick layer of grey fallen leaves. Perhaps the orc would not be here today - but then he saw a shadow move among the barren saplings.
"Ah, there ye are," Padric said gruffly.
He kept a wary eye on the orc, for he knew better than to get too close or turn his back on the creature. Charity did not mean the abandonment of good sense. However, as always the orc hung back, and sank to its haunches to watch him approach. Yes, it was not his imagination; the orc did have a little more meat on its bones. There was no reading the expression on that ugly, inhuman face any more than he could read the face of a turtle, but Padric grinned to see the orc lift its misshapen nose to sniff the breeze.
"Aye, got sommat good today," he said. "Neighbor's wife brought up a shepherd's pie. Figured you could eat the bit left."
The orc did not speak nor make any sound. It never had, and sometimes he thought the thing might be mute. No matter. The dark times were past, and a dram of kindness never hurt anybody. Padric grunted as he bent over the battered pan laying in the leaves, and dumped the contents of the bucket into it.
"There ye go. Eat up. Maybe next time she'll make some of her corn chowder, eh?"
The man glanced over his shoulder as he turned away, and kept one eye back as he returned his feet to the narrow path. As always, however, the orc simply slouched forward to crouch over the pan and began to eat. With a grunt Padric turned his attention to the climb back up towards the house, empty bucket swinging in his hand.
He was almost to the porch when his dogs rose to their feet, staring past him with growls rumbling in their chests. Puzzled, he turned to look back and saw the orc standing hunched at the foot of the path. Getting bold, the creature was. It had never come this close before.
Padric faced the orc and said sternly, "I don't have any more. Go on back, now."
It straightened, staring at him. The small hairs began to rise on his neck, but Padric scowled back at it.
"You go on, now. Maybe I'll have some more tomorrow."
Then both dogs bayed like very furies and exploded from the porch, barking frantically with every hair on end … as two more shadows moved from the wood. The bucket hit the ground and was still rolling amidst the pandemonium when Padric slammed open the door of his house and burst inside. Behind him one dog shrieked and fell silent while the other barked savagely on - and he had just found his old sword when that dog screamed and spoke no more. He turned as heavy feet thudded on the porch and a shadow filled his doorway.
Looking up, Padric the woodcutter saw Death.
xxx
TBC ...
Deepest apologies, gentle readers, for the lapse in updates. Your hobbit-editor was overcome by the arrival of spring, and forgot to come in from the garden ... ;-)
