By the Valar, I have people I must thank for their encouragement! I'm going to sound like Sally Fields during her send-up of her Academy Awards speech in that commercial for Charles Schwab: "You like me, you really like me, you really really like me!"
"O.K. here goes." (The nominee takes crumpled piece of paper from her pocket). "I'd like to thank MoroTheWolfGod, and I'd like to thank Star Lit Hope, and, oh yes, I'd like to thank Tinnuial, and, oh, don't let me forget dragonfly32." (The music begins to swell and the emcee forces her off the stage.)
Vocabulary
Berenmaethor—Bold Warrior
Ceorl (pronounced 'churl')—a person of low class during Anglo-Saxon times;
becomes the modern name 'Carl' or 'Karl'
Taurmeldir—Forest Friend
Thoron—Eagle
From Predator To Prey
Glorfindel knelt on the ground, turning a bloody tunic over and over in his hands.
"It is Elladan's, I think," said Taurmeldir.
"Yes," said Glorfindel. "I believe you are right. He at least has been wounded, although it would also appear that his injury was bandaged before he was dragged away."
Berenmaethor approached holding weapons in his hands. "They were taken by surprise. They never had a chance to pick up their weapons."
Glorfindel took the weapons from Berenmaethor and studied them intently. "Here are only two sets of weapons; where is the third?"
"I found only two sets. Anomen's weapons are missing."
"Why would only Anomen's weapons be missing?" asked Taurmeldir. "If their attackers wished to steal weapons, why would they not take all the bows and knives that they found? The twins' weapons are as well-made and valuable as Anomen's."
"Perhaps," replied Glorfindel, "Anomen's weapons were not stolen. Perhaps he is carrying them."
"But surely the abductors would not permit Anomen to hold on to his weapons," exclaimed Berenmaethor.
"No, they would not, but perhaps Anomen did not seek their permission to do so."
The two other Elves looked at Glorfindel blankly.
"I think," Glorfindel continued, "it is likely both that Anomen carries his weapons and that he has not been taken captive. If I read these signs aright, Anomen left the camp later than the others. We can see no trace of Elladan's and Elrohir's footprints, either because they were carried off or because, if walking, they were in the midst of their enemies, whose footprints have obscured their own. But, see here, where the mark of a small elven foot is pressed within the larger mark left by one of the assailants. Had Anomen been a captive, his footprints would have been trampled and obliterated by the guards who no doubt would have been trodding on his heels. This mark is quite clear and sharp. And look, here are other small elven footprints in a trail leading away from the camp."
"Why are you so sure that these are Anomen's footprints," asked Berenmaethor, "and not those of one of the others?"
"I judge these to be Anomen's footprints both because he is the smallest of the three and because it is his weapons that are missing. Anomen is free, as well as in all likelihood unharmed, and he has gone in pursuit of the twins and their captors."
"But that is madness," protested Taurmeldir. "Anomen is naught but a novice! Whatever could have possessed him to do something so reckless?"
Glorfindel put down the weapons and picked up the bloodied tunic. Thoughtfully he pulled the cloth through his fingers. "I think I know why," he said softly. "The blood on this tunic is quite dry. The attack like as not took place soon after we left the camp. Knowing that one of the twins at least was injured, Anomen chose not to wait for our return." Glorfindel arose and called to Thoron, who stood with a cluster of warriors who anxiously awaited orders.
"Thoron, you are by far the fastest rider. Ride to Rivendell and inform Lord Elrond that the twins have been seized by enemies and that Anomen is free but astray in the forest."
Thoron ran to his horse, vaulted onto it, and galloped out of the clearing.
"You others will come with us. Never mind packing. We'll retrieve anything needful upon our return. Speed is of the greatest importance now. Ai! Why must the moon be covered with clouds on this of all nights!? But we will not delay. We will lead our horses and go slowly so as not to miss any tracks."
With Glorfindel in the lead, the Elves filed out of the clearing. To Glorfindel's relief, even without light the trail was quite clear because their enemies had made no effort to cover their tracks. And again and again Glorfindel came upon Anomen's footprints pressed boldly into the center of impressions made by heavy boots. Glorfindel smiled. This was no accident, he was certain. Anomen was sending a message as surely as if he had written one. After a time, Glorfindel felt so sure of the trail that he gave the order to mount up, and the company of Elves began to move more swiftly.
Anomen had never been unsure of the trail. He had set out so soon after the attack that he had caught up with the twins' abductors almost immediately. For the entire day he had trailed alongside them. As dusk fell, the band stopped to make camp. Anomen hid in the midst of a thicket watching the comings and goings of his opponents and looking for an opportunity to rescue his friends. As he observed his foes carefully, what he learned both relieved and worried him. This was no band of warriors. They had no desire to kill the two young Elves whom they had captured. That relieved him. Instead, their raid was for the purpose of capturing slaves. For the band was made up of Southron traders and the Dunlending hunters they had hired as guides. That worried him. First, Elladan and Elrohir were in the hands of slavers; second, one of the Dunlendings was a man whom Anomen remembered all too well, the Dunlending with the cudgel who would have gladly thrashed Anomen to within an inch of his life, profit be damned. Now this Dunlending was holding forth loudly to his compatriots at one fire as the Southrons silently huddled around a second one. Elladan and Elrohir lay on the ground midway between the two groups. Each was bound hand and foot, and Elladan had a bloody rag wrapped around his head.
"'Tis quite a catch, wouldn'ya say, boys? Twins! There's gotta be some extry value there, doncha think?"
His listeners mumbled their assent.
"Mayhap our frien's here'll see fit to gi' us a bit o' a bonus, seein' as we've led 'em to sich a prize." Shifty-eyed, the Dunlending shot a fleeting glance at the Southrons, but they gave no sign that they had heard him.
"An' mayhap we kin do business in t'future. There's a golden-haired elf-brat hidin' about some'ere in this 'ere kingdom—be worth quite a bit if we could lay our han's on 'im."
Anomen shuddered to think what would happen if the Dunlending were to learn that he was hidden within easy reach—and he also suddenly appreciated Elrond's desire that he not wander about alone.
His companions began to mock the Dunlending at the mention of the "elf-brat."
"I wouldn'a thought yuh'd wanter see that 'un again, Ceorl. Didn'ee hurt yuh where yuh keep yer brains?"
Ceorl snarled at the speaker and threw a bone at him.
"Shut yer trap—caught me by suhprise, 'ee did—won' never get t'jump on me again—ye can be sure o' that!"
Hoots greeted this announcement. Furious, Ceorl got up and stalked into the forest, brushing by the thicket as he did so. After awhile he returned to the fire and unrolled his blanket. Soon he was deeply and noisily asleep. His companions followed suit, and soon only snores could be heard coming from the mouths of the Dunlendings. The Southrons stayed up later, talking quietly amongst themselves. After awhile, one of the Southrons stood up and walked over to the Dunland fire. Coming to a halt beside Ceorl, the Southron pushed him with the toe of his boot. Ceorl snorted and rolled over, but he did not wake. The Southron looked over at his companions and nodded. They silently arose and joined him at the Dunland fire. Each drew a knife.
"Are you sure about this?" one said softly.
"Yes. These Dunland scum will try to rob us of our captives, you can be sure of that. At the very least they will try to force us to pay more than the price we agreed upon for their help. Moreover, they have shown us the way into Imladris; we will not need their services in the future. We are on the borders of this realm and will soon be shut of it and in the clear. We shall travel back to Harad by another path, and when these thieves do not return to their village, no doubt their deaths will be blamed on the Elves. So, you see, we have nothing to lose and everything to gain."
The other Southrons nodded their assent.
Each knelt beside one of the Dunlendings. Anomen shut his eyes, but he had helped butcher enough game to recognize the wet, sucking sound of blade cutting through flesh. He covered his ears to block out the gurgling noises as the life bled from each of the Dunlendings. He had feared and despised the Dunlendings—but he had never wished such a fate for them.
Soon the Southrons arose and returned to their fire, leaving the bodies of the Dunlendings sprawled beside their dying fire. The leader grunted in satisfaction. "Now we can sleep without fear of being troubled by these riffraff."
"We are near the border of Imladris, but we are not clear of it yet. Shouldn't we set a watch?" asked one.
"It is certain," replied the leader, "that the scouts from that camp have no hope of catching up with us before we reach the border. Still, we will set a watch. Perhaps a stray Elf will stumble upon us during the night, and it would be a shame to forfeit a chance for more profit. And, since you have shown so much concern, you may take the first watch." The other Southrons shouted with laughter. The object of their laughter grumbled good-naturedly and took up a position right beside the bound captives, with his back to Anomen.
At first the guard remained alert, glancing about him frequently and even walking the perimeter of the camp to peer into the trees. At long last, the guard sat down beside the prisoners, drumming his fingers upon his boots to keep himself alert. Finally his fingers grew still, his shoulders slumped, and his head rested upon his chest. Anomen took several deep breaths. He knew what he had to do.
Quietly he wormed his way out of the thicket and stole toward the sleeping guard, clutching his knife in his hand so tightly that his knuckles were white. When he reached the guard, Anomen knelt down behind him. One last deep breath and he was ready to act. With one fluid motion, he slashed the Southron's throat. The slaver jerked and slumped over, his limbs twitching. He gasped and gurgled. In a panic, Anomen clamped his hands over the dying man's mouth. At last the Southron lay still. Anomen removed his hands. They were covered with a froth of saliva and blood.
Suddenly Anomen heard a gasp. Hastily he leapt to his feet and spun around. No one was behind him. Then he glanced at the captives. Elladan's eyes were closed, but Elrohir's horrified gaze was fixed upon him.
TBC