Nine For Mortal Men Part Fourteen
They set down in a small clearing just as a cloud of ash darkened the sky, spreading on the east wind.
"Where are you hit?"
"Arm."
"Best take a look. I am no healer, but I have rich experience with combat wounds."
"I think I'm too dizzy to dismount by myself," Pippin said. The distance from Ursuka's saddle to the ground suddenly seemed like a long way. Waves of heat and cold chased each other across his face and down his body.
"No need to dismount at all," Tarondor/ Morguldacil said. "Just move forward a little and turn your arm toward me."
Pippin complied, and Morguldacil gingerly probed the back side of the arm, working up toward the buried arrowhead until Pippin hissed in pain. "There is the point," said Morguldacil. "Too shallow to push it through, too deep to pull it out without dislodging the arrowhead. If I pull it, it will bleed more heavily. But there is no choice, the shaft must come out. If you fly farther with the arrow sticking out, there is too great a chance you will injure yourself further by bumping it or trying to use your arm."
"I am used to not using my arm," Pippin said, not liking the sound of heavier bleeding.
"No, my friend, I am afraid the shaft really must go. But first I will find something with which to bind the wound." Morguldacil rummaged through the saddlebag, but there was nothing suitable, only books and scrolls, and the old vellums were far too stiff to bend. So he ripped off a length of the end of his tunic. "This will do for now. It can be replaced later, when we have more time. We did not fly far; they will be on us in minutes if they run hard. Here," said the corsair, handing Pippin a slim leatherbound volume from the saddlebag. "Bite on this. Try not to scream too loud, it will help our foes find us."
"But they are not my foes!" protested Pippin. "It's all a misunderstanding. Merry will set them straight. Or Faramir, if Merry's voice holds no weight. Faramir wouldn't let them kill me."
"We can take thought on how to deliver you to your friends passed the deadly screen of their subordinates after we are both safe. There is no time now! Bite."
Pippin did as he was told. Morguldacil pulled the arrow with one swift jerk and cast it aside, and Pippin did not scream very loud at all, because he nearly swooned from the saddle. Morguldacil caught him and set him back upright, then quickly tied the faded blue cloth of the corsair tunic around the dripping black sleeve of Pippin's uniform. Then Morguldacil screeched to Ursuka and they started to lift into the air.
Pippin saw movement in the trees, black Gondorian uniforms, not the green clothing of the archers. Somewhere beyond those Men was Merry, and Faramir, and Beregond of the Guard of Faramir, Pippin's dear friend from the darkest hours of his service to Denethor. Morguldacil was a friend too, but one he had really known for less than a day, though it seemed as if he had known him a long time, those were lying ring visions. If he flew away now, who knew where he would go? Umbar, and the life of a pirate?
Pippin took a deep breath and jumped. He landed on his feet, but he was sick and dizzy, and tumbled to the ground clutching his injured arm. Above him, he heard Morguldacil utter vile Umbarian oaths. The pirate ordered Ursuka to hover, then bringing his voice back down to a manlike register, he called for Pippin to stand up and reach, but Pippin waved him off. Morguldacil shouted to Ursuka again, and they flew off, low over the treetops as if searching for another place to land.
Pippin pushed himself up to his knees as three soldiers of Gondor rushed out of the woods. "Help me, please," he panted.
As the soldiers neared him, he saw to his horror that the lead soldier was the same one who had urged the archer to shoot at him. "You!" snarled the soldier. "At last we have you! You'll pay for Veleg!"
One of the other soldiers caught his arm, "Easy, Balor! Our orders are to bring the Halfling back alive."
"Orders from Faramir," spat Balor.
"Orders nonetheless," said the other. The third soldier, a rather burly fellow, nodded enthusiastically.
A chill went up Pippin's spine. This was like a replay of the orc-talk of the Uruk-hai of Isengard. He said the first thing that came to mind, though it was perhaps not the best thing to say: "Your master wants me alive and unspoiled."
"Fie!" said the first soldier. "That kicked-upstairs princeling is no master of mine! A band of exiles and traitors he has, crouching in the wilderness within strike of Minas Tirith, and within spitting distance of the accursed valley! Did your corsair friends ride up the road to Minas Morgul with his aid and blessing?"
"What?" Pippin asked, blinking in confusion. Politics was not his forte even when unhurt, and now his head was already spinning. "Where is Merry? Can you not take me to him?"
"Of course we will," said the second soldier.
"Nar!" said the first. "The Halflings are all in league together. The one placed in charge of the prisoner was the first to defend him."
"Now Balor," said the burly man, "all that's above the likes of us. We were sent out here to find Pippin and bring him back, so let's be about it, so we can knock off and have some ale this evening before this ash chokes us."
The paranoid soldier sneered, "Already covered with it, is he not? He has been in Mordor, conspiring with the orcs and the corsairs and whatever still lingers in the tower of sorcery, and the Rangers of Ithilien too no doubt." The soldier advanced on Pippin and pulled him to his feet by the front of his embroidered surcoat. "You, Halfling, are not fit to wear the emblems of the King."
"The Lord Denethor gave me this livery," Pippin said, his pride stung, despite his fear.
"The House of Steward shall never rise again!" growled the soldier. He yanked Pippin's uniform shirt up over his face and arms, making of it an effective hood and bindings. The shirt was skin tight even when he did not have a swollen arm, and now, halfway peeled out of the uniform shirt until it hit the bandage around his lean hobbit bicep, Pippin's weak struggles only served to further entangle him. He uttered muffled cries of pain.
Then he heard the ring of steel, the unmistakable sound of a sword clearing a scabbard. Pippin panicked and tried to shriek for Ursuka, but he could not catch his breath. Two more sheath-clearing sounds sent Pippin running blindly in he knew not what direction. He heard the clang of steel on steel and a shout of "You shall not denigrate the great Lord Faramir so!" and he realized the soldiers were fighting each other. Then he ran headlong into a tree. Pippin swooned and knew no more.