The first attack came shortly before midnight. Dozens of riders came
howling out of the darkness, firing arrows at the darkened building.
Arathorn felt the tension in the bar-room rise several notches, and was
pleased to note that none of them panicked. They had spent the hours of
waiting fashioning many arrows and bolts with which to rake their ranks.
Glancing up, he saw Gilraen watching their attackers' antics with an
expression of distaste. The defenders were all hidden in shadow, so the
band wouldn't know that they were expected. To them, the building was
deserted, a dark hollow house where they could take what they wanted and
leave with the minimum of fuss.
They approached fast, unaware that they were being watched. At some unspoken signal, six bowstrings twanged, six arrows shot into the dark, six men toppled from horseback. The little family slipped back into shadow again, hidden from the now uneasy attackers' eyes. Six of their number had been killed, and none of them had seen a thing.
Again, arrows raked into them, injuring men and horses. The defenders kept up a volley until Arathorn called a halt, wanting to see what the brigands would do now. Hidden in shadow, he watched them closely.
They wheeled about, leaving the injured to drag themselves away from the silent building. Re-grouping a safe distance away, he could hear a furious conversation going on. It appeared that they hadn't yet noticed the family hidden in the bar-room, certain the arrows had come from above. Fifteen of their number were dead or injured already, and they hadn't drawn blood. They moved away, out of sight, to formulate a plan.
'What now?' Gilraen asked.
Arathorn smiled grimly at her.
'Now it gets serious.'
Two hours later, the attackers returned, and this time as the arrows raked into them, they didn't stop coming. Soon the horses were all useless, dead or injured, and many more of their number also, but they kept on. This time they reached the relative cover of the outhouses, returning fire with a hail of arrows and bolts. Several of these made it through the windows, though thankfully not hitting anyone, and were added to the piles of ammunition. Despite everything, the defenders maintained a complete silence, a fact that began to un-nerve their attackers.
Suddenly, a man rose up directly in front of Gilraen's grandmother, an arrow firmly embedded in his chest, a sword in his hand. The old woman very calmly decapitated him with her axe, his blood spraying over her as his body fell back. The arrow storm stopped abruptly at this demonstration of skill.
'I'm guessing they think they're facing more than six,' Arathorn told them in a hoarse whisper. 'Stealth is out of the question with this type of defence. Keep steady, and don't waste your arrows.'
He turned back to the window. Gilraen took a deep breath, biting her lip as she nocked another arrow. Taking aim, she fired, taking out a man who apparently thought it was perfectly safe to stand with your head above the line of cover. An arrow in the forehead soon disabused him of that notion.
'Nice shot,' Arathorn noted.
'Thanks,' she said with a smile.
The hours before dawn were spent with charge after charge made by the attackers, only to be repelled by the defenders, who made it perfectly clear they were not going to give in. Only their superior numbers kept them from giving up themselves.
In a final charge before dawn, they threw all they had at the dark inn. Arrows and bolts flew, men rushed them, roars filled the air. A bolt caught Arathorn in the shoulder, forcing him back from the window. Gilraen cried out in fear, drawing her sword and dagger, and slashing at the heaving mass of men pressing to enter their stronghold. One of the boys fell back, his throat slit. Just as it seemed they were defeated, they heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats. The attackers broke and ran, leaving them gasping for breath.
Gilraen fell to her knees beside Arathorn, her eyes on his wound. He grasped her hand.
'Your brother,' he rasped, heaving himself to the window, his good hand on the sword at his belt.
She stumbled over to the bloodied body. The boy's eyes were wide and staring, his chest immobile. She felt her grandmother grasp her shoulder, leaning across to close his eyes. He was dead. Before the tears could come, they heard the riders approach the inn, reining in their horses warily.
'Arathorn! Where are you?'
The Ranger by the window pulled himself to his feet, blood pouring down his arm from the bolt in his shoulder.
'I'm here, my friend.'
The Dunedain had arrived, and not a moment too soon.
*~*~*
Gilraen leant against the wall, enjoying the evening breeze. Her heart ached for the loss of her brother, and the injury to Arathorn. It wasn't his fight, and yet he had stayed to protect them, calling his people to them. He had said he couldn't bear any harm to come to her, and he had been the one harmed. Guilt weighed heavily on her. Her brother dead, and the man she loved injured, all because she had refused to go with five men who attacked her four days before. She longed to be able to cry, but no tears would come.
The Rangers had buried her brother that morning, before tending to Arathorn and fixing up the inn as best they could. They didn't seem to mind that they had been called so far. They were pleasant and cheerful, and determined to repay Arathorn's injury ten-fold upon the brigands who had hurt him.
'Penny for your thoughts?'
She jumped, turning to see Arathorn behind her. He gave her a rakish grin and leant beside her.
'Are you all right?'
Gilraen smiled at him.
'I'm fine,' she lied.
He lifted her chin, making her look into his eyes.
'No, you're not.'
He looked so concerned, all her guilt swelled to the surface, forcing its way out as tears. Horrified, Arathorn pulled her into his embrace, comforting her as best he could.
'It's all my fault,' she sobbed. 'Hurn is dead, and you're injured, and none of it would have happened if I'd just gone with them . . .'
'No!'
Arathorn leant down, looking into her eyes. He felt angry that she would blame herself for this disaster.
'None of this is your fault, do you hear me? Hurn died defending his home, and his sister. He had the choice to leave and he didn't. Don't take that away from him.'
Gilraen looked at him, tears streaming down her face.
'What about you? You didn't have to stay.'
Arathorn pulled her back into his arms, wishing she had asked something different and longing to tell her the truth.
'I stayed because no one should live in such danger,' he told her, 'because you all needed me to stay . . . because I . . . I love you.'
Gilraen pulled back, gazing into his eyes with incredulity.
'You do?'
He nodded, his eyes burning into hers. Gilraen smiled through her tears.
'I'm glad,' she said, wrapping her arms about his waist and lowering her head to his chest. 'I love you, Arathorn.'
Arathorn's eyes widened as the breath rushed out of him. His arms tightened around her.
'Are you sure?'
She raised her head and kissed him softly, her lips moving lovingly across his.
'Does that answer your question?'
He grinned, squeezing her tightly and kissing her hair. They stood together for what felt like an eternity.
'Gilraen?'
'Hmm?'
Arathorn took a deep breath.
'Will you marry me?'
A sob was his reply. Gilraen was crying into his chest.
'What's wrong?'
She lifted her head, a wide delighted smile on her face.
'Nothing,' she laughed through the tears. 'Of course, I'll marry you.'
He laughed, leaning down to kiss her again. A shout distracted them. The Ranger on the roof called down to them,
'They're coming!'
They hurried inside, barring the door, and taking up positions in shadow. There would be no sleep for another night.
*~*~*
The brigands approached cautiously, unaware that now there were upwards of forty people prepared to defend the inn. As soon as they were in range, six Rangers began to fire at them, each arrow taking one of the attackers out. They fell back, seemingly perplexed by the sudden upsurge in skill the innkeeper's family had acquired.
They raised their shields, moving closer, ignoring the cries as their companions fell about them, arrows protruding from their armoured bodies. They reached the courtyard in relative safety, the arrow storm stopping as they drew closer. The gates clanged shut behind them. They started in fear, drawing closer together in the hopes that they were over-reacting. Their eyes darted about, peering into shadowy corners and up onto the roof.
Suddenly, dark shapes dropped all around them, many more than they would ever have guessed. The Rangers drew back their cloaks to reveal their vast array of weapons, waiting for the brigands to attack. As the innkeeper and his family watched from the relative safety of the attic, a fierce battle ensued, though it was clear from the start that the Rangers had the upper hand. It was over in a matter of minutes, the courtyard strewn with dismembered bodies, and groaning men. Revenge had been issued.
They approached fast, unaware that they were being watched. At some unspoken signal, six bowstrings twanged, six arrows shot into the dark, six men toppled from horseback. The little family slipped back into shadow again, hidden from the now uneasy attackers' eyes. Six of their number had been killed, and none of them had seen a thing.
Again, arrows raked into them, injuring men and horses. The defenders kept up a volley until Arathorn called a halt, wanting to see what the brigands would do now. Hidden in shadow, he watched them closely.
They wheeled about, leaving the injured to drag themselves away from the silent building. Re-grouping a safe distance away, he could hear a furious conversation going on. It appeared that they hadn't yet noticed the family hidden in the bar-room, certain the arrows had come from above. Fifteen of their number were dead or injured already, and they hadn't drawn blood. They moved away, out of sight, to formulate a plan.
'What now?' Gilraen asked.
Arathorn smiled grimly at her.
'Now it gets serious.'
Two hours later, the attackers returned, and this time as the arrows raked into them, they didn't stop coming. Soon the horses were all useless, dead or injured, and many more of their number also, but they kept on. This time they reached the relative cover of the outhouses, returning fire with a hail of arrows and bolts. Several of these made it through the windows, though thankfully not hitting anyone, and were added to the piles of ammunition. Despite everything, the defenders maintained a complete silence, a fact that began to un-nerve their attackers.
Suddenly, a man rose up directly in front of Gilraen's grandmother, an arrow firmly embedded in his chest, a sword in his hand. The old woman very calmly decapitated him with her axe, his blood spraying over her as his body fell back. The arrow storm stopped abruptly at this demonstration of skill.
'I'm guessing they think they're facing more than six,' Arathorn told them in a hoarse whisper. 'Stealth is out of the question with this type of defence. Keep steady, and don't waste your arrows.'
He turned back to the window. Gilraen took a deep breath, biting her lip as she nocked another arrow. Taking aim, she fired, taking out a man who apparently thought it was perfectly safe to stand with your head above the line of cover. An arrow in the forehead soon disabused him of that notion.
'Nice shot,' Arathorn noted.
'Thanks,' she said with a smile.
The hours before dawn were spent with charge after charge made by the attackers, only to be repelled by the defenders, who made it perfectly clear they were not going to give in. Only their superior numbers kept them from giving up themselves.
In a final charge before dawn, they threw all they had at the dark inn. Arrows and bolts flew, men rushed them, roars filled the air. A bolt caught Arathorn in the shoulder, forcing him back from the window. Gilraen cried out in fear, drawing her sword and dagger, and slashing at the heaving mass of men pressing to enter their stronghold. One of the boys fell back, his throat slit. Just as it seemed they were defeated, they heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats. The attackers broke and ran, leaving them gasping for breath.
Gilraen fell to her knees beside Arathorn, her eyes on his wound. He grasped her hand.
'Your brother,' he rasped, heaving himself to the window, his good hand on the sword at his belt.
She stumbled over to the bloodied body. The boy's eyes were wide and staring, his chest immobile. She felt her grandmother grasp her shoulder, leaning across to close his eyes. He was dead. Before the tears could come, they heard the riders approach the inn, reining in their horses warily.
'Arathorn! Where are you?'
The Ranger by the window pulled himself to his feet, blood pouring down his arm from the bolt in his shoulder.
'I'm here, my friend.'
The Dunedain had arrived, and not a moment too soon.
*~*~*
Gilraen leant against the wall, enjoying the evening breeze. Her heart ached for the loss of her brother, and the injury to Arathorn. It wasn't his fight, and yet he had stayed to protect them, calling his people to them. He had said he couldn't bear any harm to come to her, and he had been the one harmed. Guilt weighed heavily on her. Her brother dead, and the man she loved injured, all because she had refused to go with five men who attacked her four days before. She longed to be able to cry, but no tears would come.
The Rangers had buried her brother that morning, before tending to Arathorn and fixing up the inn as best they could. They didn't seem to mind that they had been called so far. They were pleasant and cheerful, and determined to repay Arathorn's injury ten-fold upon the brigands who had hurt him.
'Penny for your thoughts?'
She jumped, turning to see Arathorn behind her. He gave her a rakish grin and leant beside her.
'Are you all right?'
Gilraen smiled at him.
'I'm fine,' she lied.
He lifted her chin, making her look into his eyes.
'No, you're not.'
He looked so concerned, all her guilt swelled to the surface, forcing its way out as tears. Horrified, Arathorn pulled her into his embrace, comforting her as best he could.
'It's all my fault,' she sobbed. 'Hurn is dead, and you're injured, and none of it would have happened if I'd just gone with them . . .'
'No!'
Arathorn leant down, looking into her eyes. He felt angry that she would blame herself for this disaster.
'None of this is your fault, do you hear me? Hurn died defending his home, and his sister. He had the choice to leave and he didn't. Don't take that away from him.'
Gilraen looked at him, tears streaming down her face.
'What about you? You didn't have to stay.'
Arathorn pulled her back into his arms, wishing she had asked something different and longing to tell her the truth.
'I stayed because no one should live in such danger,' he told her, 'because you all needed me to stay . . . because I . . . I love you.'
Gilraen pulled back, gazing into his eyes with incredulity.
'You do?'
He nodded, his eyes burning into hers. Gilraen smiled through her tears.
'I'm glad,' she said, wrapping her arms about his waist and lowering her head to his chest. 'I love you, Arathorn.'
Arathorn's eyes widened as the breath rushed out of him. His arms tightened around her.
'Are you sure?'
She raised her head and kissed him softly, her lips moving lovingly across his.
'Does that answer your question?'
He grinned, squeezing her tightly and kissing her hair. They stood together for what felt like an eternity.
'Gilraen?'
'Hmm?'
Arathorn took a deep breath.
'Will you marry me?'
A sob was his reply. Gilraen was crying into his chest.
'What's wrong?'
She lifted her head, a wide delighted smile on her face.
'Nothing,' she laughed through the tears. 'Of course, I'll marry you.'
He laughed, leaning down to kiss her again. A shout distracted them. The Ranger on the roof called down to them,
'They're coming!'
They hurried inside, barring the door, and taking up positions in shadow. There would be no sleep for another night.
*~*~*
The brigands approached cautiously, unaware that now there were upwards of forty people prepared to defend the inn. As soon as they were in range, six Rangers began to fire at them, each arrow taking one of the attackers out. They fell back, seemingly perplexed by the sudden upsurge in skill the innkeeper's family had acquired.
They raised their shields, moving closer, ignoring the cries as their companions fell about them, arrows protruding from their armoured bodies. They reached the courtyard in relative safety, the arrow storm stopping as they drew closer. The gates clanged shut behind them. They started in fear, drawing closer together in the hopes that they were over-reacting. Their eyes darted about, peering into shadowy corners and up onto the roof.
Suddenly, dark shapes dropped all around them, many more than they would ever have guessed. The Rangers drew back their cloaks to reveal their vast array of weapons, waiting for the brigands to attack. As the innkeeper and his family watched from the relative safety of the attic, a fierce battle ensued, though it was clear from the start that the Rangers had the upper hand. It was over in a matter of minutes, the courtyard strewn with dismembered bodies, and groaning men. Revenge had been issued.