Chapter Four

January 28
Midmorning
Burping Troll and the road north

Aerio was late. He was late and getting later and Sev was already gone. The young elf growled under his breath as he strode out to the barn to catch his horse. If there was one thing he disliked intensely it was any sense of shirking duty, and the fact that just a few minutes ago the party whom he was entrusted to escort had left without him rankled mightily.

He had advised Sev that he would be delayed, for he needed to replace a gear on the tree-planting device he had designed for the reforestation workers. It was a simple contrivance, the parts easily constructed by local dwarven metal workers, but when one of the little gears broke it seemed everyone was afraid to trifle with Aerio's invention. With a sigh he shook his head and pushed open the barn doors. What should have taken mere moments had become a twenty-minute discussion. Honestly, a little creative technology did not have to be so intimidating, and he dearly hoped Brillammen would now be able to cope with it should such a mishap occur again.

Now Aerio glanced at the blue clear sky and the white floss of clouds building against the mountains, and shook his head. The rain, it seemed, would be back after all. He flung open the door to the horse pen and grimaced at the reeking morass of mud and other matter that greeted his eye. Naturally his horse stood on the far side of the mucky pen, but Aerio was not about to wade over there.

"Tollo, mellon nin," he said gently, and with a squelching slopping step the horse came. Limping. In fact, limping badly.

With a groan Aerio ran his hand down the animal's near leg and found heat and slight swelling just above the fetlock. Evidently the horse had strained itself somehow, but while it could rest and recover under the hobbit Milo's careful ministrations, Aerio needed a mount. He peered out at Halbarad's ill-tempered steed, left behind whilst Hal rode something with better manners to stay in Henneth Annûn, and at Erin's fat gelding left to keep it company, and sighed again. Everything else was out in pasture.

Leaving his horse in a stall, Aerio grabbed a halter and set out into the pasture behind the barn. It was quite a large pasture, at least two hundred acres of lush grasses thickly dotted with evergreens and tangled thickets. Naturally the rest of the horses, Ranger remounts included, were nowhere near the barn and in fact nowhere in sight. Wet weeds slapped Aerio's ankles as he hiked out to search. Fresh tracks were everywhere from the horses' early-morning wanderings, but they crissed and crossed and nary a one had a leg sticking out of it. Soon the clouds began swelling like wet gobs of cotton batting and new clouds poofed into existence where had just been fresh blue sky.

He finally found the horses all the way at the bottom of the pasture grazing along the creek. Two of the Ranger horses ambled to greet him, and with a soft word and caress he chose one, glanced to be sure he saw the glint of steel shoes on each hoof, and slung himself onto its back. In moments he was back at the barn where he brushed the animal off and began saddling. He had just heaved the saddle onto its back when he chanced to look down and under the horse. Something about that far hind hoof ... With a sinking feeling he eased around the horse and picked up the suspicious foot. Half the shoe was missing, and the remainder hung on by two nails.

Muttering a dwarven curse simply because the hard syllables suited his mood, Aerio dragged his saddle off and set it thump on the floor. He now had two choices. He could go out and catch another horse, and waste more time, or he could go get Bob and see if the Ranger could tack on a new shoe. Despite his many talents, Aerio had somehow never gotten around to the art of horse shoeing; a deficiency which, he decided, might be in his best interests to remedy. Rather than searching through the pastured horses for who had four good shoes, Aerio elected to find Bob.

"Sure, I can do that," said Bob, as he tossed the last bite of biscuit in his mouth. "If we have the right size shoe blanks, anyhow."

Given the Troll's lack of a resident blacksmith, their dwarven friends had hit upon the clever idea of making sets of prefabricated horse shoes in various sizes, rather than the usual way of hot-smithing each new shoe upon demand from iron bar-stock. Then holes were tapped in the shoes for nails and all one had to do was hammer the cold shoe on an anvil until it matched the particular curves of a horse's foot. This day, however, luck failed again.

"They're all too small," Bob said, as he dropped a shoe back into the box with a clang.

"Too small!" exclaimed Aerio. "How can this be? We do not have a herd of ponies out there. Did the dwarves miscalculate our needs?"

"Nah," said Bob with a shrug. "Blacky here just has big feet."

Trying not to grind his teeth Aerio said, "Would you please tell Milo that my own horse is lame and ask him to look at it? Meanwhile I'll turn Blacky, here, loose and see how many other horses I must scrutinize before I can take my leave of this place."

Nodding, Bob said, "Sevi left a while ago now, didn't she?"

As Aerio stalked towards the back door, unshod horse in tow, he growled, "Pray do not remind me."

When Aerio at last rode out of the yard he was fully thirty minutes behind Sevilodorf. It was enough.

xxxxxx

Though the clouds lowered like a graying blanket and the drizzle had turned to rain, the tracks on the road were clear to see. There were hoof prints of other horses overlaying the wavering twin lines of Sev's cartwheels, and then ... everything came together in a tangled mix-up. Aerio raised his head as dread clutched in his belly but the muddy road ahead mocked him with its emptiness. Nothing but clawed bare limbs and tangled brown thickets greeted his eye, and the broken crown of the lightning-struck oak that was to have marked their meeting place. But Sev's tracks simply ... stopped.

Which could not be, and Aerio leaped off his horse to study the ground more closely. Churned hoof prints obscured clear reading of the signs, but there were boot prints of at least three Men - and a heavy gouge up the near shoulder of the road that ended in a heap of fallen limbs. Or were they placed there? With a bound he swept the branches aside, and there was Sev's cart, fully laden and shoved behind an alder thicket. Yet of the woman herself there was no sign.

Distress rose and mingled with growing outrage as Aerio continued to search. None of Sev's trade goods were touched, so robbery could not have been the object. The alternative motive her absence suggested turned his blood cold, and Aerio sprang back onto the road in a silent fury. He had failed in his duty to the mortal woman he wished to call friend. He would not fail to rescue and if need be avenge her. A swift scan from horseback revealed the attackers' escape route, off the road and away into the broken hills eastward towards the mountains. The rain would not pass soon, he could feel the dampness clinging like a physical presence, and he dared not turn back for help for risk of losing what chance he had.

Leaning from the saddle he bent a long twig and twisted it on its low limb, pointing his course. Satisfied with that, and praying he and Sev would soon be missed and followed, the young elf clapped heels to his horse's ribs and plunged away into the wilds.

xxxxxx

Slightly before noon
Hills of Ephel Dúath

As they rode up to the hideout cave, Darien whistled the agreed signal, then looked over to Landis with an unspoken question. Landis shook his head and grimaced, the woman was still unconscious. Dismounting, the tall man handed his reins to Grady, giving him an icy glare and ordering, "See to the horses." Then he strode over to Landis who carefully lowered the woman into his arms. Picking his way over the wet, slippery shale, Darien carried his silent burden into the large, dimly lit cavern. His men stood waiting, all eleven that they had left in hiding, the expectant expressions on their faces changing to puzzlement as they saw what their leader carried.

One of the younger men rushed forward to help as Darien sought for a place to set the woman down. The pale, sandy-haired youth pulled out some bedding and helped his leader ease the seemingly lifeless body onto it.

"Careful, Neal," Darien said. "She took a blow to the head."

"What happened to her?" Neal asked.

Landis stood in the cave entrance. "Grady happened to her, the hothead. We were trailing her. She trades with a local band of orcs."

A low murmur echoed around the cave as some exclaimed surprise and others repugnance at this information.

"Yes," Darien confirmed, cold anger still in his voice. "She spotted us then Grady struck her, against my instructions."

Another ripple of murmurs rolled around the cave, some in shock at Grady's action, some in agreement with it. Many of these men had ridden with Darien during the war. They remembered as he did the fiery night when orcs had swept upon their holdings and left blood and ashes in their wake. The war was over then, and he as their captain and lord had eagerly embraced their shared homecoming, the joys of peace and family. But in one moment that peace was brutally destroyed, and now he led these men in a quest for justice. That anyone could traffic with the beasts that destroyed their families was an abomination to all.

Neal meanwhile examined the woman's wound. "Hopefully her skull is not cracked, but she is deeply unconscious." His eyes searched among the men for his brother. "Evan, bring some water," he said to a smaller, younger and freckled version of himself.

Evan immediately rushed to do as his elder brother asked, though little more than a boy elbowing tall men out of his way, as he sought the water supply at the back of the cave. It was only a moment before he was at Neal's side with a bowl and a cloth. The brothers were the closest the men had to healers, though the little skill they possessed was from observation of their mother as she tended the wounded during the war, and from trial and error after she was killed by orcs.

Darien quietly regarded his men. He needed to send some out after the missing horse, but he had better choose more carefully this time. Landis would of course be one; he knew what the horse looked like.

"Is there any more you can do for the woman?" Darien asked Neal as the youth finished bathing the wound.

"No, only time will tell how badly she is hurt."

"Then you can go on an errand with Landis. He might need your speed and clear eyes."

Darien looked around again and decided on the third and last member of the search party. Carrick was strong and reliable, a tall, thickset man, ruddy faced between a mop of brown hair and a bushy beard. Calling him forward to join Landis and Neal, the leader explained what they were to do.

In a matter of minutes, the chosen three left the cave, then rode away on fresh horses.

Grady moodily returned to the cave. After Evan had washed and bound his hand, he went to seek out his two main sidekicks, Oren and Monroe, to tell his own version of events and receive some sympathy.

Meanwhile, Darien wondered what he should do with the woman. She could regain consciousness at any time and it was both unseemly and unsafe to have her here amongst so many men, a few of them likely to be as unpredictable as Grady in the circumstances. He beckoned to Horus, a small, dark-skinned and black-eyed man of quiet wisdom and an unspoken past. Explaining the problem, Darien was gratified to hear the hoped-for common sense in the other man's reply, "Though it sounds unpleasant, she'll be safer and more private if we place her in 'the hole'."

This was the term they used for the small pit in a recess on the southern wall of the cavern. The pit was about seven-foot deep and maybe half the same wide. They stacked their stores around it to prevent anyone forgetting and accidentally falling in. Horus went on to outline how they could lower her in gently with a makeshift sling. He offered to climb down first to ensure the floor was clear of debris and to prepare her some bedding. Darien felt a smile flicker to his lips for the first time since the woman was injured. He thanked Horus and the two men set about putting the plan into action.

xxxxxx

Noon

The Hole

Dark.

Not just the dark of night, but a complete absence of light.

Remaining curled on the floor where she had first awakened, she concentrated in an effort to force her ears to give the information her eyes could not. But sound was absent as well, save for a whispering dripping somewhere nearby.

Where was she?

And why the blazes did her head hurt so much?

Gently, she felt around the edges of a large lump on the back of her head. Her fingers came away sticky with what she supposed was blood. At least it didn't seem to be bleeding now, no matter how much it hurt.

No other injury made itself evident and she turned to a blind inventory of her possessions. Both arm-sheathes and the knives they contained were gone, so was the knife carried openly at her belt, as well as the belt itself. On the positive side, she appeared to have acquired a thick blanket; and though her cloak and pack were gone, the remainder of her clothing appeared untouched. 'Well then,' she thought, 'those who put me here are not on the bright side.'

Reaching out to her left, she touched the roughness of stone and damp wet earth.

A cave? Somewhere underground that seemed certain.

Moving slowly to the left, she stepped with one hand sliding along the roughness of the stones and the other waving in the empty blackness on her right. A trickle of cool liquid sliding beneath her fingers brought her to a stop. Cautiously she touched a fingertip to her tongue. Water. Slightly bitter, but water.

Cupping her hand tightly against the stone, she gathered handful after handful to appease a thirst that spoke of a greater passage of time than she could account for.

Rubbing a final handful across her face and keeping the wall ever on her left, she shuffled forward once more. Following the wall's gentle curve, she soon returned once more to that slow flow of water that was all she had besides the blanket to mark the beginning or end of her investigations.

No door. No opening. Turning her back to the wall, she walked forward with careful steps to reach the opposite wall. Nothing in the center of this hole either. Nmad.

How did she get in here? And where in the world was Aerio?

Tearing a strip off her shirt and thinking wryly that this was a rather awful way to find that Meri's admonishments to always carry a clean handkerchief should be obeyed, Sev returned to the tiny trickle of water. After wetting the cloth and pressing it to the knot on the back of her head, Sev sat down in a corner. The packed dirt floor, though cool to the touch, was not muddy except for right beneath the flow of water. 'Somehow the water must seep out.'

Through a pounding headache and a faint feeling of nausea, Sev struggled to piece together the scattered memories of the morning. She remembered leaving the Burping Troll and thinking that if she had gone ahead and left without Aerio in the first place she might already be on her way home. She began to shake her head at her own foolishness then stopped when the movement increased the nausea.

'Think, loof,' she told herself. 'If there's no opening on the side, how did you get in here?'

The obvious answer came to her slowly. Standing, she reached up and touched, not stone or earth, but some sort of fur. Around the walls she went again, this time her explorations focused upward.

Returning to her corner, Sev frowned. Two, possibly three skins and cloth that were probably blankets were stretched across a frame of branches. Briefly she wondered what would happen if she pushed upward on that frail frame and brought the makeshift ceiling down. Rejecting that course of action as too foolish even for her, she returned to her attempts to puzzle out why and who.

Sev remembered everything about the day up to the moment she left the Troll. That conversation in the barn with those two men, Darien and Landis. The silliness of Milo at breakfast when he challenged Bob to see who could eat the most pancakes. Erin's anxious look when Sev had announced she was leaving without waiting any longer. Turning all of the morning's events over in her aching head, she concluded that the only thing even remotely strange was the conversation in the barn.

But those men had not seemed the sort to kidnap anyone. Now if that companion of theirs, that bald headed, broken nosed, half eared toidi had tried to get her to let him trade with the orcs, she would have been certain of who had put her here. Anger filled her and pushed aside all of the pain and nausea. She saw the man clearly in her mind, those hazel eyes filled with contempt and rage. For an instant, another image emerged from the gray fog that was all she had of the time after she left the Troll. The same man holding a sword and moving toward her.

The image slipped away. That had not happened in Henneth Annûn or at the Burping Troll. Had it happened at all? Sev clutched her head. Why couldn't she remember?

Climbing to her feet, a roiling wave of nausea surged through her, and she sank to her knees.

Crawling, she wet the cloth again and placed it on the back of her head. Curling into a tight ball on the thick blanket, she fought to control her stomach. Gradually, the nausea eased, and though she knew she should try to stay awake, she gave in to the grayness creeping over her thoughts. The last clear thought was that the worst part of it all, was that if she managed to get out of this, she would have to listen to Halbarad tell her how right he had been.

xxxxxx

Noon

Outside the Cave

Aerio tightened his hands on the reins, eyes narrowing as he peered through a screen of dripping bare branches. He could see as mortal eyes could not the dark ragged mouth of a cavern in the stony slope of hill perhaps half a mile through the winter-barren forest. Just outside the cavern, logs had been stacked among standing trees as a crude corral for several horses, and as he listened past the whisper of the rain he could hear faint voices. The voices of Men.

With light hands he asked his horse to back and turn, and retreated several hundred yards to a small glade. There he removed the bridle and with soft elven words bid the horse to linger there, graze, and await his return or the coming of friends. Then on light feet he fled into the tangled wood.

Ere long he lay comfortably against the rough damp skin of a sleeping elm, to mortal eyes, had they looked, no more than a trick of grey shadow, but none were there to see. Within the cavern beyond he saw the flicker of firelight, the glimmer of torches, and now and again the slow pacing figures of men. Here the trail he followed had led and none had come out since he arrived. Sevilodorf must then be within, though to what purpose he could not fathom, and that unknowing distressed him. Sev's horse was not here, and now he was troubled to think he might have missed a valuable clue by not trying to follow the mare's fleeing tracks away from the cart. However, the tracks he had followed bore every earmark of men who had carried away something of value and wished not to be seen, and the only item missing was Sev herself.

Yet unease continued to gnaw at him, and Aerio strained every sense for sight or sound that would confirm Sev's whereabouts. The mutter of voices rose and fell at random intervals, casual conversation between men bored by inactivity and ill weather. Once or twice brief laughter rang out, but in all, the mood within the Cavern seemed cheerless.

"Do you think she's woken up yet?"

Aerio's head snapped up at those words, ears straining. There were two men among the horses just outside the cavern.

"Maybe, Cap'n," spoke another, younger voice. "Evan said he thought he heard her moving around down there a little while ago."

"All right. We'll have someone look in on her later."

The voices faded as the two men went back in the cave, and Aerio let himself relax against the tree limb that supported him. Stretched like a big cat two-dozen feet off the ground, he did not acknowledge the steady rain spattering upon his back, for his task was at hand. Sev was here. Now he would listen and count how many were the foe, and plan how best Mistress Sevilodorf would be rescued. Somewhere beyond the leaden grey sky the sun had tipped past noon. Soon they would be missed, and then - then help would come. Resting his chin on the back of one fist, Aerio settled himself to wait with the bottomless patience of the elves.

Chapter Five

Slightly after noon

On the road south of the Trading Field

For nigh on half a mile, Dream sped northward away from the rough man who jerked at her head. Calming, she began to slow and wonder where her human had gone. Uncertainly, she plodded on. She was familiar with the road, having traveled it often over the last year, and knew that if she continued north she would find someone who would offer her an apple or brush off the mud that now flecked her body.

Of present distraction however, was the succulent greenery along the side of the road. Normally, Dream was not allowed to nip at the plants, having work to do; but today had become confusing and here she was without her wagon to pull and no one to remind her of her good manners. Cautiously she nibbled on the broad leaves of a particularly enticing plant.

Gradually all thoughts beyond these tasty treats faded from her mind. The onset of a drizzling rain troubled her not at all as she munched her way from leaf to weed. Meandering northward, she left the road to graze in a narrow meadow and drink from a small rivulet created by the recent rains. Abruptly her progress was halted by a trailing driveline catching between two rocks. Repeated jerks of her head only served to wedge the rain-soaked leather more firmly.

Lathered and breathing hard, Dream gave up her fight to pull the driving line free. Snorting with frustration, the horse caught a scent she recognized. Here was a friend, someone who would free her from this trap. Whinnying loudly, Dream called out for help.

xxxxxx

"You hear that," Titch leaned his head to one side, listening above the whisper of rain in the thickets. The drizzle was swiftly intensifying to a genuine shower.

"Of course, I did. Anybody could of heard that," Nik replied pointing west. "It came from over that way."

"It were Sev's horse," Titch said emphatically.

Nik looked at his gnarled companion carefully. "How can you tell?"

Titch smiled widely displaying a row of sharp teeth. "We're friends. Me an' Dream. Ah knows it's 'er."

"What's she doing over there?"

Titch scratched his head. "No idea. But she ain't supposed to be there."

"You think there's something wrong?" Nik lifted his head and sniffed the air.

"Bound to be. Sev ain't sort to be late an' she's supposed to be at trading place already. Gubbitch's got that pile o' stones ready for 'er to take off. That's why 'e sent me off to find 'er." Titch wondered again at the fact that Sev seemed certain they could trade a pile of ordinary rocks for some of the things the orcs dearly desired but could not make or find on their own. "Let's go find out."

The two orcs pushed aside sodden bushes at the edge of the road and made their way through a narrow stand of trees. Mud squelched beneath their boots and the drizzling rain plastered their hair to their heads. The rain itself bothered them little. In fact, if asked, Titch would have admitted to preferring a gray overcast day to sunshine. However, the mud clung heavily to their boots and legs, and slowed their progress.

The trees thinned and the orcs found themselves on the edge of a small meadow. In the center, a brown mare stood tossing her head in greeting. Though alone, she wore a driving harness and bridle and her driving lines trailed upon the ground.

"See," Titch's wizened face beamed with delight. "Ah told tha it were Dream."

Nik studied the meadow carefully. "But where's Sevilodorf?"

"Dunno."

Titch loped across the meadow to greet Dream with tossings of his own head and firm pats along her back. Nik followed more slowly, sniffing the air and looking about suspiciously.

After spending the night engaged in the never-ending joyousness of riding Warg across the countryside, Nik had left his canine friend on the southern edge of the land that Russ the Beorning had marked off as his own. Though careful to never use the word 'master' as it upset Russ, Nik made his home with the Beorning and took his words as commandments. Recalling Russ had remarked not two days before that fresh fish would be a treat, Nik had determined that he would take some home with him and headed toward the river running from the mountains. Crossing the road he had met Titch heading south to the Burping Troll and decided to join him on his errand; there were several fine fishing holes near the Troll.

Now, Nik made an uneasy examination of the meadow as Titch pulled the wedged line from between the rocks and continued soothing the mare. There was no sign of the trader woman or her cart. Nik followed the tracks of the mare to where they first entered the meadow. Nowhere could he find prints of any human. What was the horse doing wandering alone?

Nik peered into the trees at the meadow's edge. Nothing was visibly wrong, but the sense of danger that caused the spot between his shoulder blades to itch did not dissipate.

As Titch, leading Dream, joined him, Nik asked, "So what now?"

Titch patted Dream reassuringly as the horse nuzzled his neck. "Follow trail back. Gubbitch sent me to find Sev, so ah got to try. Anyroad, got to take Dream home."

Nik nodded and led the way through the trees. The two orcs followed the wandering trail until it rejoined the road.

xxxxxx

Landis could not believe their luck. From their vantage point amongst the trees and bushes on the hillside he saw the woman's horse being led by two small ugly creatures.

"Those are orcs, or I'm a hobbit," he whispered. "What say you, Neal?"

The youth peered through the veil of rain and nodded grimly, "Poor specimens of the vile spawn, but definitely orcs."

A slight grim smile lifted the corners of Neal's mouth as he pulled a sling from his pocket, along with a handful of carefully selected stones. Though a poor man's weapon, a sling in skilled hands could shatter the skull of not only small game but also an enemy. It could certainly put an orc or two down for a good nap. Each such encounter helped ease Neal's guilt, wiping away a little more of the feeling of helplessness that had infested him when he had found his mother's ruined body. Animals such as these were not content just to kill. They were savage and cruel beyond all reckoning.

"Tie the horses, Neal," Landis ordered in a stern whisper. "Let's get as close as we can on foot. These will make better captives to lead us to the rest than that poor woman." Landis then spoke directly to the third man, whose bearded face was turned towards the orcs with single-minded purpose. "You hear me, Carrick? We want these alive. There's bigger prey out there. Failing all else, make sure at least one lives. If there's no other option, we can persuade the woman to talk if she otherwise has to witness the suffering of one of her pets."

Carrick nodded solemnly.

xxxxxx

Nik was feeling even edgier when several things happened at once. Dream jumped a small ditch running with water at the road's edge, a sharp stone hurtled through the air and struck Nik a jarring blow to his temple, then three men appeared out of the bushes and ran bounding towards them.

Through hazy vision Nik hissed, "Get on the horse, Titch. Go for help. NOW!"

Titch took orders as only an orc can. In an instant he was upon Dream. At a slap from Nik, the horse leapt into a gallop, ears flat, eyes flashing white, nostrils flaring. She recognized the scent of one of the men and also felt the clamp of fear gripping Titch. The largest of the strangers made a grab for her, but she swerved, rear hoofs driving into the wet ground, agile as a filly in her desperation. Then she galloped on, flinging up a storm of mud behind her.

As the horse fled Landis and Neal charged after the injured orc. Another stone flew from the youth's sling, meeting the target with more force than the first. Black blood streamed from two head wounds, but the small orc kept his feet and set off into a staggering run. Seeing no weapon Landis lunged to tackle the creature, but instead found himself sprawled in the mud, the breath shocked from his ribcage by an unexpected, powerful blow.

Carrick gave up on the rapidly disappearing horse and scrambled to help his two comrades. Neal let fly another stone, baffled why shots that would have felled a strong man made so little impact on this runt. A third wound opened in the middle of the orc's forehead and he staggered and fell to his knees. Gasping for air that would not come, Landis scrambled up and after Carrick who was closing on the prey - this orc would not escape.

With rain-thinned blood pouring into his eyes as he struggled to rise, Nik could hardly see his enemy. He was fighting for his life again, but this time it felt very different. Nik had never feared death, though there had been a time when he'd have welcomed it. But no longer, and not for some time now. Never before had he so many reasons to want to live. He had been bred as a killing machine, but now he knew of joy and the value of life. Things had been different since that first night outside the Troll when he had met Russ. The past few months flicked through his mind, the farm, the animals, Warg and the rest of his friends. Friends. It had not even been a concept to him before that night; now it seemed the most important thing of all. And now these, these, men were trying to take it all away. Let them try then, but Nik was not going to make it easy for them. He sank his teeth into the hand of a man who tried to wrestle him to the ground. He bit, kicked, punched and squirmed. As he struck out and the man fell away, a fourth stone hit and drove stars before Nik's eyes. Tears of rage and misery fell, mingling with the blood and rain. He awaited the clean pain of sword or arrow. Why did these men not just finish it? Why were they playing with him like cats with a mouse? A savage blow to the back of his head left the question unanswered and Nik lay still.

The three men stood over the prone body of the orc. "Uruk," Landis announced, still clutching his ribs. He hoped none were broken.

Carrick nodded in agreement as he wiped blood from his nose, unaware the rain had already washed it into his moustache and beard. By the morning he would have two very black eyes. "Aye, we better tie him very tight."

"Your hand is bleeding." Landis said.

Carrick looked down, to see blood seeping from a row of thin red cuts on his hand. "Yeah he bit me. That's another one I owe him. At least I still have my fingers."

Landis nodded. "Make sure you clean it up right just the same. No telling what kind of poisons he's got running out of his mouth."

"Poisons?" Carrick asked, paling slightly at the thought. "You think he's got poisons in him?"

"I don't know, but I'd check it out just the same. He's an orc isn't he?"

"I don't like any of this," Landis muttered, taking rope from his pocket. "The whole region seems unnatural. I felt it in Henneth Annûn, and the closer we came to Mordor, the stranger it seemed." Kneeling in the mud, he pulled the orc's hands behind its back, binding its wrists together tightly. "Now that I think about it, men and elves mixing with orcs is more than unnatural. There's sorcery at work here, mark my words. The peoples at that inn have been enchanted. We owe it to them to remove evil from their midst."

Neal passed his own bit of rope to Landis so that he could bind the creature's feet. Finally, Landis took a cloth from his pocket and made a gag for the Uruk's mouth. "I'm taking no chances. We'll hear no words from this thing."

xxxxxx

Early Afternoon
Road between Trading Field and Burping Troll

Titch hung on to Dream's neck as she galloped at break-neck speed, attempting to calm her with pats, strokes and soft words while not bouncing off her flying back. She finally slowed of her own inclination, until she shambled to a stop and drew deep breaths that caused Titch's short legs to rise and fall. He sat atop her as the rain steadied to a downpour, thinking as hard as he ever had. 'This ain't right. I should've never left Nik. 'e said to go for 'elp, but if ah go to Gubbitch now, it'll take at least an 'our to get back. I should've never left. Ah could 'ave 'elped 'im. What do ah do?' Titch had relied all his life on other people's orders. He'd never even needed to choose what to eat or wear. Frozen with indecision, the orc felt precious seconds ticking away, then a thought popped into his head, 'What if I were Nik. What would I do then?' The answer was suddenly obvious.

Titch urged Dream around, off the road, back the way they had come. As he neared the ambush site, he clambered off the horse and tethered her. "Wait quietly for me lass." His thick fingernails drew lines down the wet fur of the mare's neck. She gazed at him then lowered her head to nibble contentedly at the rain-soaked grass.

Titch crawled towards the place where the men had waylaid them. Peering from behind a bush, he saw a grey-bearded man binding the inert body of Nik while the other two attackers looked on. 'He's not dead,' Titch realized with a rush of relief. The uruk was being taken captive. 'If they're tying 'im up, they must want 'im alive for summat. But what? Should ah stay an' follow 'em, or should ah go get Gubbitch?' Once again, he could not decide. 'Ah'm no good to nobody. Only thing ah can do is go get somebody who is.' Though he didn't see it as such, Titch had made his decision. He crawled back to Dream, clambered up onto her and headed off at a brisk splattering trot towards the Trading Field.

A deep muddy path through the middle of the field was evidence that Gubbitch had paced up and down its length for a long time. He paused occasionally to look for signs of Sev arriving, or Titch returning, or better still, both. His emotions had changed from minor irritation to anger as they waited for the Trader in the pouring rain, then anxiety set in, so he had sent Titch out to look for her. Now Gubbitch was fighting off fear; the other orcs waiting with him kept their distance and hoped someone would show up before their leader exploded.

When Titch rode into the Trading Field, Gubbitch's stomach flipped over. The little orc was supposed to find Sev, not just Sev's horse. He ran across as Titch dismounted.

"Where's Sev?"

"Ah don't know," Titch confessed, then went on to explain what had happened. As he reached the end of the account, his bottom lip began to quiver. "Ah didn't know what to do so ah came back for 'elp."

Reality was worse than anything Gubbitch had been imagining, but now he could at least do something. "Tha did good, Titch. Tha did reet."

Then he shouted for his lads to gather round and began to give orders. Nesh was to take two other orcs and head north to warn Russ the Beorning that Nik had been kidnapped. Twenty-odd miles lay between them and Russ, so Gubbitch told them to stay off the road and out of sight as far as possible. The rest of them would head south to search the road for signs of the Trader.

xxxxxx

The cart was no longer well hidden. Hooknose spotted it first and called to Gubbitch.

"'ey, look! 'ere's 'er wagon but where's Sev?"

Grimly Gubbitch shook his head. "Keep thy eyes sharp, lads," he barked.

They searched it carefully, and the surrounding area, but the driving rain had washed away any evidence of what had happened. All they could tell was that horses had been here, but how many or where they went was unclear.

Titch roamed further afield and noticed the sign that Aerio had left, a low twig on a small tree, half-broken to point the way. He gleefully called to his leader who confirmed that it probably was a deliberate sign.

"Ain't an accident," said Gubbitch.

Someone, he dearly wished it to be Sev, was hoping to be followed, and Gubbitch intended to do just that. But first they hauled the cart back onto the road and hitched Dream to it. Hooknose and Lugbac climbed aboard.

"'urry all tha can," Gubbitch said. "But mind 'orse, she's knackered already."

He was hoping Sevilodorf was alive and well somewhere and he did not want to be beaten about the head with a pan if she found her horse the worse for wear. Meanwhile, Hooknose and Lugbac were big, ugly and well armed, but Gubbitch didn't think they would meet any trouble on the road to the Burping Troll. He was almost certain that all the trouble waited in the opposite direction.

xxxxxx

Early afternoon
Burping Troll

"She's gone where?"

Rain streamed from the eaves of the porch as Anardil caught himself from the impact of Bob's fist thumping his back. Behind him Elros chuckled at Bob's exuberant welcome.

"Trading with the orcs," Bob repeated cheerfully. "You remember Gubbitch and his 'lads' from Yule. Titch and his bright red tunic - now there was a sight!"

"Trading for what?" Anardil could feel water oozing into places that water should not ooze, and the thought of Sev somewhere out in this weather with - with those creatures nearly boggled his mind.

"Gem stones. Remember those shiny rocks they brought for everybody at Yule? Well, they've got a cave full of them, it seems, so Sevi's going to see what she can get for them. She talked to a lapidary in Henneth Annûn a few days ago, so I guess it's all set up."

"Set up -." He was going to sputter just any moment, and Anardil made himself take a breath. "Who is with her? Tell me she didn't go alone."

"Oh, no!" Bob looked at him as if he had suddenly turned bright green. "Hal would have our heads. Aerio went with her."

Breathe, Anardil. "Aerio. One elf went with her. To trade with orcs. One elf?"

Frowning, Bob said reasonably, "Dil, it's only Gubbitch and his lads. For pity's sake, they are in and out of here every week, and Celebsul plays cribbage with Gubbitch all the time. And it's not like she's going to their caves, they meet her at a clearing just up the road."

"Celebsul." The name conjured up the face of a silver-haired elf with ancient, smiling eyes and Anardil nodded slowly.

"She's traded with them many times before, Dil," Bob said, and dropped a reassuring hand on Anardil's shoulder. "They're some of her best customers for herbal remedies and they are over the moon if she can get some raisins or toffeed nuts for them. Guess they've got a bit of a sweet tooth. Say, let's go inside, it's miserable out here."

A warm gust of cooking smells greeted them and welcome heat wrapped around them, as Bob closed the door behind their two sodden travelers. In moments they were divested of sodden cloaks and assorted weaponry, by which time a squeal rang from the kitchen doorway:

"Elros! Anardil!" Erin the hobbit came bouncing into the common room with Meri right behind her. "Oh good heavens, you're both soaked! Get over by the fire this minute."

"And look at those shoes!" cried Meri. "Get those wet things off, before you both catch your death."

"Not to mention you're tracking the place up with mud."

"And dripping."

"And shivering too, I'll wager, if you'd only admit it."

"Hurry along now, shoo! My stars, how do you Big Folk get along?"

Elros and Bob took one look at Anardil's befuddled compliance, a tall grim Man being bullied across the room by two fussing little hobbit lasses, and they burst out laughing.

"Surrender now, Dil!" laughed Bob. "They have you surrounded and flanked."

"And you!" Meri spun with a fiercely pointed finger. "Bob, you march yourself right upstairs and get some dry socks and shirts for these poor gentlemen."

"Gentlemen!" Bob's eyes widened. "Elros goes away for a couple days and suddenly he's a gentleman? Hey!"

Erin planted both hands in the small of his back and shoved the tall Ranger bodily towards the stairs, leaving Elros and Anardil laughing behind them. Soon both men were warmly ensconced on a couch by the fire, with dry socks on their feet, dry shirts on their backs, warm throws snugged about their shoulders, and mugs of hot spiced wine in their hands. Even more than physical comfort, however, Anardil sought ease for his mind, and he listened now to the silver-haired elf reclining in the chair nearby.

"I am not even sure when Gubbitch first started coming in here," Celebsul said, as he watched the play of lamplight in his glass of wine. "He just appeared, one day, a grimy creature hunched by the fire and looking very much like he hoped he could stay warm for just a while." He lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. "So we let him. Over time he simply became a regular, and then he began bringing one or two of his comrades."

His grey eyes suddenly met Anardil's over the rim of his glass, keen as the stare of a hawk. "I think none of us could bear to know where he's from or what he has seen. To the Master that once drove them he was nothing but a beast of burden, a misshapen tool to break against stone and the darkness of His will. Now that the Nameless one is gone, it would seem Gubbitch and his few have found some spark of what they might have been, had the ages favored them differently."

"And you trust that?" Anardil matched him stare for stare. "You trust Sevi's life to that?"

"Yes," Celebsul said quietly. "Or I would not have let her get near them or they to her."

Anardil snorted. "You would not have let? Do you think you could persuade Sevi to anything, if her mind were set otherwise?"

Celebsul arched an eyebrow and let his silence be the answer. He had the advantage of centuries of stubbornness in his own right, if he needed to draw upon it.

With a sigh Anardil looked away. Since he had first met Celebsul in Pelargir, and in subsequent associations with him on their venture to Nurn and more recently at Yule, his instinct had been to like and trust this soft-spoken elf. Furthermore he knew that Sevi and Celebsul enjoyed a very quiet but abiding friendship, and it would do no honor to either to mistrust its wisdom.

Mustering a wry smile, he said, "All right, Master Celebsul. I will rest my mind about Sevi and your cribbage-playing rehabilitated orc."

Then the room suddenly filled with cheerful voices as Anoriath and Elanna came flying down the stairs - or rather Elanna flew, as Anoriath's advanced pregnancy made most movement of a frustratingly deliberate nature. Anardil stood for Elanna's hug as the girl cried, "Dilly, you're HERE!" and pretended not to notice Anoriath and Elros' exchange of smiles and soft handclasps. Then it was Anardil's turn to embrace the tall lady Ranger and he laughed at the awkwardness of bending to hug past her rounded belly.

"Good heavens, Ani, did you swallow a melon seed?"

Hands on his shoulders, she nonetheless gave him a hard look. "Do you want to live to see supper?"

Grimacing as if a blow were struck, Anardil chuckled merrily. "Elros, motherhood may make her beautiful but it also makes her mean!"

"Oh, you have no idea! Ah!" Elros ducked but not fast enough to avoid the cushion Anoriath hurled at him.

Laughter still in her eyes, Anoriath asked, "Is Sevi back yet?"

"Not yet," replied Bob off-handedly. "But I imagine the rain is slowing things a bit."

"Or it might hurry them up. But since the rest of us are sensibly indoors, who is up for a game of Tabbaccus?" Anoriath scooped a deck of cards off the mantle and faced them with a challenging smirk. "Well, gentlemen? Or are you afraid of a pregnant woman?"

There at last Anardil relaxed, for if Anoriath did not fear for Sev, she who knew better than most a woman's risk, then he would accept the strange way of things here.

"Deal me in, Ranger Anoriath," he said with a crooked grin. "I will meet you in any contest you name."

xxx

TBC ...