Dagnir Sigil Slayer Blade
Chapter 4
In the morning, Aragorn sent five of the men hunting deer in the glades of Ithilien. When they met up again at dusk there were two deer to be roasted over the fires. The soldiers gave the stringy old doe to the prisoners, and kept the tender young buck for themselves, but Aragorn set aside several thick slabs of haunch from his share. He watched Amali take her small share of the tough meat and eat it quickly, voraciously, like a starved stray dog afraid someone might take it from her.
The men were loud and raucous after the successful hunt and the hot meal. He waited for them to settle down before approaching Amali. She sat with hands wrapped around her knees, staring up at the moon.
He knelt beside her and held out a slice of the meat he'd set aside. "Eat. I've saved out more for you for tomorrow."
She took it eagerly. "Captain, Sir." She said between mouthfuls, "How long before we reach Minas Tirith."
"Seven or eight days. Shortly after the turn of the moon, if we keep our current pace."
A shudder ran through her slight frame, leading him to raise a hand to her forehead lest she'd taken a chill. She brushed him away. "Is there a chance we could come there sooner?"
"Nay." He said softly. "Not unless we go through the night, or else run through the day."
She was silent again, finishing her meat, the unreadable look shadowing her features once again.
"I'd like to check your knee." He was asking permission, but she took it as a command and instantly stretched her leg down.
He ran his fingers over the tendons, noting that the severe swelling was gone. The muscles would never lie right around the knee again, but he was satisfied that she would not be lamed by the injury. Casually, he asked, "How did you say this happened again?"
"Dogbite." She said, and started to draw her leg back. He held it still, holding his hand splayed over the scar.
"No dog did this." He spoke quietly, thoughtfully, his gaze on the knotted scars beneath his hand. Now she did jerk her knee back.
"What does it matter?" She said angrily, but he recognized it as anger driven by fear. One by one the clues fell into place.
"How long, Amali?" Aragorn looked to her with a piercing stare.
She pretended not to know what he meant, gazing at him with wide, frightened eyes.
'How much longer?" His voice must have sounded angry, because she drew back from him, curling her arms around her chest.
"You know?" She whispered in terror.
Aragorn reached out then and grasped the neckline of her tunic, loosening the laces and pulling it aside. There, on her breast, just above her heart, the dark crescent moon showed darkly against her light skin. He drew back hastily, as though afraid she would bite. She slid a few inches further away from him.
"If you had not asked how long before we reached the city, I may not have guessed. But ask any prisoner here, and they are not eager to reach the city and end their freedom." Aragorn eyed her keenly, but her head was bent, and tears glistened in her eyes. "How much longer?"
"I would have had to tell you soon, anyway." She tilted her head back and looked up at the moon, gleaming against the backdrop of stars. "Four days. The moon will fill in four days. And then, Captain, Sir, " and her voice dropped to a low whisper. "You must either help me or destroy me."
Aragorn thought for a long moment. Here, beneath the trees of Ithilien, the small weak woman seemed harmless, desperate. How could he refuse to help her? But he knew how dangerous she was. Indeed of all men walking the earth, Aragorn, son of Arathorn knew the danger that existed within her.
"Does Amed know?" He asked, gesturing to the sleeping boy.
She shook her head. "He's known me his entire life. I looked after him when I could, after his mother took ill. He accepts my .... strange ways... because he knows me no other way." Her eyes turned pleading, "I've always been careful, Captain, Sir. None have ever come to harm by me. Please believe me."
Aragorn nodded. "Then none knew? How is it you are summoned for judgment? Who told your secret?"
She smiled bitterly, gesturing to the bite on her knee. "My maker." When Aragorn started, she continued. "He is in Minas Tirith, an agent of the Steward. They have known all along."
"But how long? Those scars are years old. Why were you not summoned until now?"
"Steward Ecthelion sent a keeper to mind me. I was allowed to live because I was so young when it happened. I have lived like this so long I know no other way. I am older than I appear."
"What changed?" Aragorn asked softly, searching her face, trying to recapture her gaze. He felt as though for the first time in weeks she was being honest with him.
"My keeper died." Seeing his sharp look she shook her head and spoke quickly. "No, no! He died of the sickness this winter. Many died from it."
Aragorn nodded. Even within the walls of Minas Tirith the fever had swept away many lives. He could not hide the concern he felt. "So you have been untended? Did you..."
"No!" She denied hotly. "I have been vigilant in my measures."
With a bare flick of her hand she gestured towards her knapsack. "Look for yourself."
Cautiously he pulled it towards himself, surprised at the weight of it. Unbuckling it, he lifted the flap and reached inside. His hand met metal and leather. Raising it just enough for the light of the moon to shine down, he could see the contents and stilled, contemplating them before laying the bag aside.
"Four days?"
"Four days." She nodded solemnly.
"I will give you my answer tomorrow." Aragorn stood and left her alone in the darkness as the weight of the shadows of the forest closed in about her.