Galathon's brothers moved a little distance away from the pit so that they couldn't hear his pleas. Ôlion volunteered to go out and check all the other pits in the area to see if they had caught anything.

As it was about noon, the other three sat down to eat. Partway through the meal, Hallon, who had the sharpest hearing, looked up.

"Look who is coming," he said, gesturing upriver.

It was a caravan of bachyr—peddlers. Their wagons were loaded up with goods from Dale, Esgaroth and the Greenwood, headed downriver to Dorwinion.

Eglerion was struck with an idea. "We will not gain anything by killing our brother and covering up our guilt. Why don't we sell him to the bachyr? It is better than killing him—after all, he is our brother, our own flesh and blood."

Lathron and Hallon nodded. It was indeed a better idea. As the caravan approached, the brothers stood and hailed them.

"Well met, men of Dorwinion," Eglerion called.

"Well met, Nandorin of Greenwood," the foremost of the bachyr replied courteously. "Out on the hunt?"

"Yes, although at the moment, we are interested in another kind of business," Eglerion said. "We have a young elf to dispose of, and wondered if you would be interested in a little commerce."

The bachor looked interested. "I could perhaps take him off your hands for you," he said cautiously. "Is he healthy?"

"Have you ever heard of an elf that wasn't?" Lathron said innocently.

The bachor laughed. "No, indeed. Let me see this young one."

000

Galathon sat huddled against the earthy side of the pit. His cries had ceased to bring any reaction from his brothers, and he assumed they could not hear him anymore. He shook pitiably with fear and despair.

Suddenly there was a noise, and he looked up. Someone had tossed a rope over the edge of the pit! Hallon's voice spoke: "Hold on to the rope."

Galathon did so eagerly, and his brother pulled him up. When he was standing on the open ground again, he forced his trembling knees to hold him up. Looking around for his other brothers, he found them talking to a number of bachyr. Hallon took hold of his arm and marched him over. Galathon wanted to ask what was going on, but he didn't trust his voice just yet.

"Here he is," Hallon said to a man who looked to be the leader of the bachyr.

"Ah," the man said, striding over. He looked Galathon up and down appraisingly. Galathon looked at his brothers with fear and bewilderment, but none of them would meet his eyes. "Yes," the bachor said finally, "very well. I will give you eight ounces of silver for him."

Galathon found his voice. "What?—my brothers…"

"Be quiet," Lathron said to him, and Galathon obeyed, partly out of shock.

While the leader was settling with Eglerion, one of the other bachyr tied Galathon's hands before him and ran a rope from them to the back of one of the wagons. As he watched, the leader finished paying Eglerion, then gestured to Galathon's richly embroidered robe, which was bundled over Eglerion's horse's saddle.

"What about that coat? 'Twould be worth a pretty fee."

Eglerion shook his head. "We have need of that."

"Ah well," the merchant said, and shook his hand.

"Hey, boy," said the bachor who had just finished tying his hands. Galathon looked up at him, white-faced. The bachor smiled kindly at him. "Don't shake so; we won't hurt you."

Galathon bit his lip but made no answer.

000

Ôlion returned over the hills to his brothers. He needed to inform them that one of the traps had two deer in it.

He saw them a little way before him, sitting on the ground, finishing up their short meal. They hadn't yet taken any notice of him, so he rode quickly over to the pit they had thrown Galathon in and looked over the edge, intending to check on him.

He didn't believe his eyes at first, and blinked a few times. But the image was the same—the pit was empty. Galathon was gone.

He kicked his horse into a canter and pulled up next to his brothers. "Where is Galathon?" he asked angrily.

"We sold him to some bachyr headed to Dorwinion," Eglerion said, surprised.

Ôlion's shoulders slumped, and he turned his face away from his brothers. "What can I do now?" he whispered.

000

When they killed the deer in the pity, the brothers dipped Galathon's fine robe into the blood of the animal. Then, with their kill, they returned home.

Ôlion dreaded the reunion with his father. When the four brothers pulled up in the courtyard, Seidiron came out to greet them. He called them each by name and embraced them. Ôlion felt sick to his stomach.

"But where is Galathon?" he asked, as Mudanwen and Fairion joined the reunion. "I sent him out to you."

Ôlion pressed his lips together and took a bundle off his horse. "We found this in the forest," he said, handing it to his father. "Examine it—is it Galathon's?"

Seidiron undid the bundle and shook out Galathon's robe. The gems still flashed in the sun, but the embroidery was all stained with blood.

Seidiron could not help but recognize it; no one could. He stood very still. "It is my son's," he said, his voice low. He stumbled backward; Ôlion moved forward to catch him if he fell. Seidiron's hands closed spasmodically on the material and he held it close to him, as if it were the body of his son. "It is his robe. Some wild animal has eaten him. Your brother has surely been torn to pieces!"

The four brothers couldn't look at one another, confronted with their father's grief. Stumbling backwards again, Seidiron stopped and leaned on the doorframe, and wept.

TBC

AN: Gen 37:25-33

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