Disclaimer: Nope, didn't make up Middle Earth. I must attribute that to Mr. Tolkein. I just pasted my story into his frame.
V
Disaster!
The next day he talked to Gamling. But it was as he had feared. Gamling would not allow him to leave the fortress.
"Gamling, my father begged me to find Folcwine, I must do it," Déor said earnestly.
"You cannot leave the fortress now," Gamling sighed. "It is not safe."
"I can fight," Déor said quietly.
"It is not safe for us!" Gamling exclaimed. "I know you can fight, I helped train you. But you must stay to help us defend ourselves. The enemy may attack at any moment. If you are searching for this Folcwine, you will be cut off from your retreat. The enemy will outnumber you and kill you."
"Please, Gamling, you know I would not make a foolish request."
"Until now I would have vouched for you on that point. Now you make me doubt," Gamling glared at him. "I know you wish to obey your father," he said, softening, "but did he say you must go while the enemy threaten attack?"
"He urged speed," Déor said.
Gamling sighed. "I wish I could allow you to search for Folcwine. But I cannot. No, you may not leave."
Déor looked Gamling straight in the eye for a moment, then bowed his head in resignation. "Then, I will not leave," he said. He turned to go.
"Déor," Gamling said. "If we ever send scouts in that direction, I will make sure you go with them."
"Thank you," Déor said and stalked away across the dike. He grasped the handle of his sword fiercely. How he hated this inactivity, this simple waiting. He wanted action. He wanted to search.
Gamling nodded to himself as he watched the boy stride off. "He is much like his father," he said, "always wanting adventure." Then he smiled and nodded once more as if agreeing with himself.
"Stand ready!" A sword zinged out of a sheath.
Déor whirled, drawing his own sword.
Sigebryht stood glaring at him, crouched slightly with a shield held ready.
Their morning watch was over. Now they stood on top of the Deeping Wall, relaxing till their evening watch began. At least, they had been relaxing.
Déor leaped to one side as Sigebryht charged him. Four men could stand abreast on the Deeping Wall, yet that didn't leave much room for leaping about. Déor caught up his shield where he had propped it near the wall and flung out his sword to parry another stroke. Sigebryht was going easy on him, giving him a chance to ready the shield.
The men on guard on top of the wall turned to watch the two combatants. Déor and Sigebryht flowed and smashed against each other, each seeking for an opening. Their eyes met, watching for a signal. Déor twisted so Sigebryht's back was to the edge of the wall. He rushed in, trying to force him over the edge. Sigebryht whirled out of the way at the last moment, carrying the fight further along the wall.
Suddenly Déor found himself almost off the edge. With a desperate thrust, he forced Sigebryht away toward the parapet. Sigebryht drew back, laughing. "Your skills have not decreased since last spring, I still cannot beat you."
Déor laughed. "Well I haven't defeated you either," he said.
"You came close," Sigebryht grimaced. "That last blow almost broke my shield arm." He shook his arm for emphasis.
Déor frowned.
"I have done my duty. I have begun to tire you. Now go down to the valley, Gamling is waiting to give you a lesson." Sigebryht motioned down the steps.
Déor's eyebrows shot up. "Did you plan this?"
"Of course, what else would keep you from being so restless?" Sigebryht grinned as he followed Déor to the stair. "Hope you have fun," he called, nursing his arm. Gamling was notorious for giving his pupils a hard time. Déor still remembered many bruises he had received for not guarding himself properly. They helped him learn faster, at least Gamling thought so.
Déor jogged down the stairs, shaking his head at Sigebryht. Yet he had to admit the exercise had already improved his temper. He saw Gamling waiting for him, his sword out and shield held ready. Déor wondered for a moment if he ought to fight carefully. After all, he had grown stronger in the past year, and Gamling was old.
"Come on, are you afraid of an old man?" Gamling shouted, brandishing his sword.
That decided it. Déor leaped down the last few steps and came at Gamling with a rush. Gamling neatly sidestepped his first blow, glancing it aside with his shield as he had a hundred times before.
The two circled each other. Gamling did not strike as hard as Sigebryht, but he used more cunning. Their eyes locked, but still Déor could scarcely read his teacher's glance. He knew his own eyes betrayed his every move to the old man. Still he watched, and sought to learn.
The contest continued, with the two twisting constantly. Finally Déor thought he read Gamling's eyes. As quick as a spark he twisted his sword away and took the next blow on his shield. He had been right. Gamling had almost used his trick again. His teacher could move as quickly as a snake, twisting his sword to catch his opponent's hand guard and wrenching the sword out of his grasp. Déor rememberd many times when he had stood disarmed, pinned againt a wall with a sword at his throat.
They drew back at the same moment. Gamling smiled. "You have learned," he said. "You never avoided that before."
"Yes, I have learned," Déor said, "I have learned you are a shrewd commander as well as a teacher."
Gamling smiled. "A man must be shrewd to be commander or teacher," he said.
"Thank you for the lesson," Déor said.
Gamling nodded, "You are welcome. I trust you know where to come when next you feel restless."
"Careful," Déor said, "I may come to you after every watch."
Gamling laughed, "I have other duties," he said.
"Thank you again," Déor repeated, grasping his commander's hand.
Gamling smiled, returning the pressure. The next moment he turned and walked toward the Hornburg.
Sigebryht slipped up to Déor. "You enjoyed my little surprise, did you not?" he asked.
"I would never admit that. Otherwise you would surprise me all the time," Déor said. He strode up the steps two at a time, then leaned through an arrow slit in the parapet, straining his eyes to the north. Somewhere in that direction lay Culurien and Lothiriel, Prince Imrahil's daughers. He must find them, somehow.
Early the same morning Fréa bent over Elfhild, shaking her awake for her watch.
"Are you awake yet?" she asked.
"Yes," Elfhild groaned and dragged herself into a sitting position. She knew if she didn't she would fall back to sleep.
The cold air struck her limbs, forcing her to pull her cloak tight. Creeping over to the fire she held her hands over the coals. The warmth made her fingers tingle. Carefully she added a few sticks to the coals and blew on them. They began smokeing as she blew harder. Finally they burst into flames. A thrill of pleasure ran along her back as the warmth touched her face. The flames threw light everywhere and she surveyed the camp quickly, glancing at her sister, then further to the horses.
Content, she turned her gaze back to the fire. The flames died, but she did not reach for their dwindling supply of fuel. They had gleaned all they could from the old tree, and it was miles to the next.
A horse whickered. Elfhild decided to walk down and check their picket ropes.
Returning, she sat down near the fire to wait.
She felt alert and suddenly wished she could continue riding. A desire for action grasped her heart. She jumped up and paced around the fire.
The fire seemed to grow dimmer and she added more sticks. Then she noticed she could see the horses better. The stars were fading. She crept around the rocks sheltering their encmapment and looked toward the east. The dawn was coming. She streched her arms to welcome the glowing sky. Opening her mouth to shout with joy, she looked to the south, towards their village. Her mouth stayed open, but no sound emerged. A smudge lay near the horizon. For a moment she thought it was from the cook fires in the vilage. Then a knot wrenched her stomach. It couldn't be.
She ran and shook Fréa and Wyn awake. "Come," she said, leading them away from the shelter. "Can you see anything?" she pointed to the south. Her hand trembled.
Wyn followed her finger, then rubbed her eyes. "It looks like smoke," she said.
"Why would the village be burning?" Elfhild asked. "The men did not say to burn it. I heard them talking about coming back. It can't be on purpose."
The two stared at her. "It couldn't be Dunlanders," Wyn said, "could it?"
"Maybe someone left their fire going and it caught in the thatch," Fréa suggested, but she didn't seem convinced.
"No," Wyn said. "Grandfather sent me to all the houses to make sure the fires were out. I poured water on every hearth."
"Should we continue searching for the horses?" Elfhild asked. Her stomach churned.
"Go back," Wyn said. "If any are still alive, we need to help them." She shuddered.
"But what if they left before the Dunlenders arrived?" Fréa asked. "Then they will need the horses even more."
"The Dunlenders can also track," Elfhild murmured.
Fréa looked at her, and her face froze.
"If there are wounded they will need help soon. We have to go back, now!" Elfhild exclaimed. Her fear gripped her. In a moment the three had rushed back to camp and began packing.
"We can eat later," Elfhild said, bundling the food bag onto her saddle. With a cry they sprang on their horses and surged itno a gallop.
They thundered over the ground and with each beat, Elfhild wished they were already at the village.
But her thoughts rebelled. We have to slow down, they said, the horses can't do this all day. Elfhild shook her head, but with a moan she pulled on the reins. Erohin slowed to a canter. The others looked back and also slowed.
The ride stretched for ages in Elfhild's mind. Each step seemed to shrink smaller than the last until they were crawling over the plain like beetles. Yet the canter continued.
At noon she forced herself to stop. Her heart railed at the delay, but she ignored it. The horses stood, breathing heavily. In a few minutes they began cropping grass. Elfhild handed bread to Wyn and Fréa, and they drank some water.
The girls watched their horses and tried to joke, but the tension weighed too heavily. They knew that it was less than two hours ride from here to their village. At least, it was less than two hours at the pace they had taken.
Elfhild watched the grass and tried to wait till her shadow passed a certain point. But her stomach tightened so much that she sprang up and strode to her horse. Wyn and Fréa followed.
Soon they were cantering again. The morning faded into afternoon and riding posessed their thoughts. The smoke cloud grew as they neared the village.
When they topped the next rise they slowed their horses. A column of smoke rose from the village. Every thatch had disappeared and many huts had collapsed. Everything was blackened with ash and fire.
The girls approached the village slowly, looking around for signs of the attackers. Elfhild looked at her own house. The beams had burned away and a whole side had collapsed. The other three sides leaned inward drunkenly. Erohin snorted at the smoke and grew fidgety. She smelled the danger.
Elfhild turned and rode toward the well. The sides had been broken down and rubble from the surrounding houses had been thrown into the shaft. Elfhild stared at the destruction. She was aware of Fréa and Wyn near her. Neither of them spoke. They knew.
"They must have attacked during the night," Elfhild said.
"Which means the women and children may have escaped!" Wyn whirled her horse and trotted to the edge of the village. "I can see their trail!" she cried.
Elfhild turned slowly. When she reached Wyn, she looked at the ground.
"The trail's clear, we won't have trouble following it," Wyn exclaimed.
"Too clear," Elfhild murmured.
"What do you mean?" Fréa asked.
"I don't want to know," Elfhild said. In her mind she saw bodies strewn over a field. Blood and the stench of dying flesh rose in her mind. The picture of her mother… "No!" she cried. Before she knew it she had dug her heals into Erohin's flanks and surged forward. She rode blindly, clinging to her mare, urging her faster and faster. Horse sweat spattered off Erohin's neck, and her hair tossed in her face, but Elfhild welcomed the distraction. Erohin's labored breathing and the cries of Wyn and Fréa brought her back to the present. She allowed Erohin to stop and looked over her shoulder. Wyn and Fréa had fallen far behind. When they saw she had stopped, they slowed their horses to a trot.
"We can't go on like this," Fréa gasped as they reached her. "The horses are too tired. If we meet danger we'll never outrun it."
The horses drooped their heads, their sides heaving.
"How far could they have traveled before nightfall?" Elfhild asked.
"Surely not more than four leagues, probably less than three," Fréa answered.
Elfhild looked down, "Surely not, they had children, and wounded."
"They have children and wounded," Wyn corrected. "They still have them." She insisted, glaring at Elfhild.
"Have, then" Elfhild granted. Her heart spoke no, but she fought against it. "They're alive, just hiding," she said fiercely, "we have to find them."
"Let's walk," Fréa said, "we may reach them before dark."
"Not if they kept traveling today," Elfhild said.
"No," Fréa admitted. She said nothing.
Elfhild kicked her horse. The mare took a deep breath and stepped forward. The three rode in silence.
The horses stopped panting and lifted their heads. They were resting for a sprint even as they walked. A sprint to where? Elfhild wondered, or from what? Depression settled over her like a cloak, stifling her heart.
The sun stretched their shadows far across the plain as they topped another rise. They could smell smoke. An awful stench wafted along with it. Elfhild stopped her horse.
Fréa trembled.
"One may still be alive," Elfhild said and touched her horse's sides.
Wyn followed.
Nearer they could see what had happened. A few fires sent up wisps of smoke. They must have been last night's cooking fires. Bodies lay around the outer fires in sleeping positions. They had been surprised. The girls dismounted and walked toward the carnage. Revulsion and fear coursed through them. They looked at each face quickly. All were dead.
Wyn shrieked, and Fréa and Elfhild ran to her. They turned pale.
Goldhild lay sprawled on the ground with blood dried on her chest. Flies buzzed over her. Goldwyn curled near her feet. Dwyn and his brother sprawled on the ground not far away.
Elfhild stooped to feel her mother's neck. No life. Fréa and Wyn stood frozen. Elfhild didn't even touch Goldwyn. The damage was too obvious. Elfhild checked the two boys, then stood up. Fréa and Wyn read her look.
"Where can we bury them?" Wyn cried. "We can't let the wolves have them."
Elfhild felt the same panic rising within her.
"We can't" Fréa looked around, "we can't, we can't," she repeated.
"See if there are any alive," Elfhild said. She turned as if in a dream and began walking toward another body. She never remembered that evening clearly. It was as if a fog clung around the bodies. She just kept going from one to another. When it grew dark, she stopped. She noticed that Fréa and Wyn were still near Goldwyn.
They had sunk to the ground, still staring.
Something within Elfhild stirred. A strange hope for survival rose within her heart. She felt awake. Pain throbbed in her soul, yet she strode towards her two remaining friends.
"Come," she said. "Come back to the horses." They rose and followed her numbly. Each of them took her horse and walked away from the slaughter. They didn't have to explain; they just walked. Finally, Elfhild stopped.
The horse's saddles slipped to the ground with a thud, and the girls dragged them in a pile. They wrapped their cloaks around themselves and huddled close, desperate for companionship. No one thought about setting a watch. They assumed the sights they had just witnessed would keep them awake. But the hard riding and shock combined against them. Within a few hours, they were wrapped in slumber.