On horseback she reached her camp in half the time. Although the journey was hard and at times she had felt beyond exhaustion, there were no major mishaps along the way. Her stomach lurched as she began recognizing her surroundings. A deep dread of what she would find almost stopped her in her tracks. Shaking her head she continued on to the hollow where they had set up camp some nights previous.
It was carnage. Horses slaughtered as they stood securely tied were left for the carrion eaters to finish. Swarms of parasitic flies flew from carcass to carcass, feasting on the rotten flesh. She cried aloud as she recognized one of her own.
"Ciarán, no!"
The young horse was barely more than a few scattered bones, picked clean by the foul carrion crows that circled overhead. He was recognizable only by the fact that his ravaged head hung still tied to her wagon. He had been slaughtered where he stood.
Tears of grief streamed down her face, mingling with dried blood. Deargán, spooked by the dead horse, uttered a drawn out groan and danced on the spot. He stayed only because his mistress willed it. Had she not been on his back he would have run from the grisly scene. Understanding this, she clumsily dismounted, unable to see for her watering eyes.
"Tar anseo amáireach." * Come back here tomorrow * She stroked his velvety lips affectionately and gestured for him to leave. "You do not need to suffer this."
Not daring to stand still, she searched the camp for survivors, both beast and man. There were none alive and no sign of any man. The wagons had been ransacked and much of their contents lay discarded and trampled on the ground.
All around the camp were signs of scuffles and fleeing beasts. She was a fairly skilled tracker, her experience coming from the years of following the wild herds of horses on the hills of her homeland, but she could make no sense of what signs she found. After finding no survivors, she walked the perimeter hoping that she might find some clues to what had occurred. It became apparent that a large party of orcs had circled around them, coming in from the east to attack them from behind.
Glancing down at a set of peculiar tracks, she frowned. She was now fifty meters away from the edge of the camp and some ten meters off the main trail that went between her home and Edoras. Although her eyes were more used to following animal spoor and tracking the occasional lost child, she recognized the imprints of what looked like a wagon.
"No, less like a wagon than like something with two wheels. A chariot of sorts."
Crouching, she peered closely at the sodden ground.
"And not drawn by a horse. Some other beast, something bigger. And with claws… "
Holding her bound hands just above the foreign print, she measured it and found it was at least five times bigger. Chilled to the core, she sat abruptly. The attack had not been a random and disorganized one. Someone had watched as they had been ambushed. Watched as the massacre had begun. As horses, tied with no means of escape, had been slaughtered where they stood. As human captives had been taken into the night.
She felt her body go weak. How many more had suffered this cruel fate? Her resolved stiffened. She would go back for them. She could do nothing else.
***
"Where are you going, brother?"
Blue eyes glinted in the darkness. There was a movement between two trees where the moonlight filtered down through a small opening in the canopy.
"I could not sleep. What we saw today has left me troubled."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Why do we hide like cowards? We should follow those fouls beasts and bring vengeance for those who have fallen here."
The words were spoken passionately, the lilting voice rose slightly in anger.
"We must wait. Until tomorrow at least."
"Why? We can travel by moonlight. I am ready, we could leave now."
"Survivors, Nardolo. They may come here yet."
***
She worked by the light of the moon, trying to cover the remains of the lifeless horses with dead wood found in the little patches of thicket just off the road. It was a grim task, but she felt loathe to leave them as meat for scavengers. Unable to bury them, she had decided to burn them on a funeral pyre.
She stumbled often and was moved to tears more than once by the sorry sight of such proud beasts fallen so low. Exhausted and weak through lack of food, she struggled on and by dawn had succeeded in covering most of the deathly mound. As misty tendrils of sunlight touched the earth with their warming glow she laid the last leafless branch atop the hastily built tomb.
Her tired limbs trembled as she searched the scattered belongings at her wagons wheels. A ripped leather knapsack caught her eye and she leaned forward in recognition. Struggling with the fastenings, she gave an exclamation of bitter satisfaction; she felt no joy that day though her small achievements gave her the strength to continue.
In her tied hands she now held a small box, well crafted and bearing the carving of a horses head that seemed wreathed in flame. Along the sides runes carried the message 'may this be your light along the dark road'. It was a gift from her late father given to her on her first journey to Edoras, where she had traveled as a messenger rather than as a horse mistress. He had pressed it into her gloved hands and bade her take it with her. She carried it to this day.
She lifted the carved lid and from within took a dull stone. It sat in the palm of her hand easily, smooth from years of use. A deep groove ran along its center, revealing an iridescent grey core, hued with the colors of the rainbow. She set it before a small pile of dried pine needles she had collected earlier, groove facing upwards. Returning her attention to the contents of the box, she lifted what looked to be a crudely fashioned knife, a blade of stone with an ornate bone handle. Again the fire wreathed horse motif was carved into the bone, yellowing with age, but beautiful still. Where the eye of the horse should be was set a finely cut gem, glittering and precious. She wept to see it, for it reminded her of those who had fallen, her beloved beasts who would never again feel the warmth of the rising sun on their backs. Every hour of her waking day she had spent loving them and tending to their needs for they were like children to her and she grieved as a mother grieves for a lost child.
When her tears were spent, she resumed her task. Holding the ornate tool she stuck the grooved stone at an angle. Sparks flew where stone met stone, scattering about the small pile of kindling. Her bonds hindered her aim and she cursed.
Gathering herself, she changed the angle, striking again and was rewarded with a faint wisp of smoke. Once more the shriek of stone upon stone rang out and finally a flicker of flame resulted. Quickly leaning over it, she blew gently. Embers smoldered threatening to die. With a silent prayer, she blew a little harder. The pile burst suddenly into flame and grew stronger as she fed it dried leaves and twigs.
Finally she felt it safe to leave the small fire without fear of it going out. She collected a smaller branch and at one end wrapped an old blanket she had found near her pack. Setting it in the fire she waited until it was fully lit, then carried the blazing torch to the funeral pyre.
As the fire took hold, she cried aloud an ancient verse in a tongue she did not understand fully. Of its origins she knew nothing save that it was the language that her father used to speak with the horses.
"Daibh na ruith leamsa,
Brenna, Orlaith, Aodhán, Líadan, Ciarán
Déan cadalan sàmhach.
Myr shen dy row eh t'annym is rieau gyn."
* To them who ran with me,
Brenna, Orlaith, Aodhán, Líadan, Ciarán
Sleep peacefully.
May it be your spirit is always free. *
Her strength was now utterly spent, and she dropped to her knees. Great clouds of black smoke went up into the sky and she fancied she could see the outlines of running horses in its shifting form. As she lay on the sweet smelling grass, her mind drifted and she fell into a deep slumber.
***
"There is a fire burning east of here."
Handir looked up from where he had been packing up their belongings. Getting up he went to stand beside his brother at the edge of the small copse where they had spent the night. Frowning, he dropped the sleeping mat he still held and whistled piercingly.
"Let us go."
He mounted the pale steed that had come at his call. Reaching a slender hand down to his companion, he pulled him up. He set the horse at a gallop towards the tower of black smoke rising.
***
Hearing the approach of galloping hooves, she awoke expecting that Deargán had returned. Instead two cloaked men moved towards her at an alarming pace. Whirling round she looked for some means of protection. Naught but the great fire caught her eye and, reaching forth, she grasped a fiery branch. Holding it aloft she screamed.
"Who comes here? Stay away from me or risk losing you life."
Unheeding, both men jumped down from the horse and came closer. They talked quiet soothing words, but in her panic she heard nothing save the rapid beating of her own heart. As one came within a few feet, she lunged forward aiming for a face with the flaming branch.
He sidestepped easily and drew back slightly. Holding his hands up he continued to speak, though still she heard no words.
The other, where is the other?
As the thought flashed through her mind, she felt great arms encircle her and lift her clean off the ground. In her struggle, she lost hold of the branch. Weaponless, she fought on kicking out behind her and biting at the arm that held her.
***
Nardolo tightened his grip as she struggled, amazed that such a slight thing could fight with such ferocity. He had thought her just a boy at first, for her hair was short and came only an inch from her head and her clothing, or what was left of it, was very masculine in appearance.
"Ah! Brother she bites me. Can't you calm her before there is nothing left of my arm but gnawed bone!"
"Hold her Nardolo. She is panicked, but she cannot fight us forever. Hold her till she calms."
Gradually her struggling subsided and her body went limp. Stooping over, he laid her gently on the grass.
"She looks injured brother. We must get her away from here."
"The horse cannot carry us all. Meet me back at camp"
"Why is it brother, that every time something happens, you ride and I walk?" He complained in jest.
"Because I am older and a much better rider."
As he spoke he remounted and gestured to the prone woman in the grass.
"Pass her up to me."