Chapter Seven
Afternoon
Burping Troll
At a table near the large front windows, Anardil stared intently out on the quickly forming lake that was once the Burping Troll's courtyard. He ignored the faint smiles of amusement given him by Elros and Bob, as well as the attempts by Elanna and Anoriath to engage him in another game of Tabbaccus. The hobbits had done their best to distract him with offerings of a large meal; but their lack of success was evident by the food that grew cold upon his plate.
Meri sighed and shook her head at him as she gathered up the plate to return it to the kitchen. "She will be all right," she said earnestly. "She's very good at taking care of herself."
Anardil pulled his gaze from the streaming rain outside to meet that of the hobbit lass. "She is at that," he said with a half smile. "Yet…"
Meri smiled and patted his arm as his voice trailed off. "Yet, you still worry." Meri looked out the window and shivered. "She's probably safe and snug with Gubbitch before a roaring fire."
Anardil nodded, albeit with one eyebrow raised. While the thought of Sevilodorf having fireside conversation with a band of orcs struck him as a bizarre sort of comfort, it appeared that it did ease Meri's mind. Pushing back his chair as Meri returned to the kitchen, he moved to lean against the window frame. Grey, driving rain and sodden black trees were all he saw. He sipped a cooling mug of tea and watched sheets of water scour the grey puddles.
Then movement appeared at the northern gate, the rain-black figure of a cart and horse, the white blaze on its nose bobbing with each splashing stride. Yes, thank all that was blessed, it was Sev's cart. His expression and his heart bounded to lightness - until he saw the driver and passenger. Those gnarled forms were not Sev; in fact, they were not even human. Striding to the hearth, he grabbed his cloak from the back of a chair where it hung drying.
With a hard look at those gathered there, he said, "You said she trades with those creatures frequently; does she allow them to drive her cart as well?"
Pausing only long enough to seize his sword from its place by the door, Anardil was gone in a whirl of wet wool. Taking the steps in one leap he splashed across the yard to meet the cart.
"Where is Sevilodorf?" he shouted. "What are you doing with her cart?"
Lugbac watched the stranger striding towards them with a naked sword in his hand, and he half rose from his seat, not sure whether to fight or run. Hooknose pushed him back down as the mare clumped towards the inn.
"Tha don't say nowt. Tha don't do nowt."
He knew this man belonged to Sev, he had met him briefly at Yule, but then the man had been under Sev's control. Now he seemed a very different creature as he barked a stern "HO!" to the mare, his hard stare matched by the cold glint of his sword. As the cart creaked to a halt, Hooknose was relieved to see Celebsul run out of the door and sprint after Anardil.
Holding his hands in the air to show he intended to use no weapon, Hooknose cringed as the man swore furiously, "Curse you, orc, where is she?"
Celebsul reached Anardil's side and grasped his arm. "Calm down. Give them a chance to answer you." The elf looked at Hooknose and asked, "What has happened?"
Clearly something had. Anardil pulled his arm free and took another rigid step forward.
Hooknose spoke in a rush, "Don't know. Sev didn't arrive. Sent out Titch to find 'er. Nik's bin kidnapped by three men. Nesh 'as gone to tell Russ. Found cart 'idden at side of rowad. Dream wanderin' loose. Gubbitch said to come and find thee. 'es gone lookin' for Sev."
Anardil stood clench-jawed and white-faced with fury and confusion. He turned to glare at Celebsul, nearly choking on stifled panic.
"Explain what they are saying - NOW!" Then he reminded himself that the elf was a good friend of Sevilodorf, and added, "Please."
The elf sighed. "It does not sound good, but it is not their fault." He gestured to the two orcs. "They have come to warn us that something has gone wrong. Sev would never abandon her horse. Three men have taken one of the orcs. There were three men talking to Sevilodorf last night. They sounded as if they hated all orcs." Celebsul paused at the baffled expression on Anardil's face then continued with emphasis, "Sev seemed to dislike those three men. They presented themselves to her this morning as traders in gems - and she sent them away. It is Men we are looking for, not orcs. Let's gather whoever we can and go quickly."
For an instant Anardil simply stood in the driving rain and wondered if the world would tilt out from under his feet. Here were two ugly, misshapen creatures that should have been his enemy, and yet they were here seeking aid for the woman he loved. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that during this discussion, Bob, Elros and Gambesul had also come outside to see what was happening. With a glance Celebsul sent Gambesul running to fetch whichever elves remained. As the younger elf fled, Anardil turned to the rangers, the unspoken question writ plain on his face.
Bob nodded, then said, "Ten minutes, Dil. We'll be armed and ready. We'll find her."
As the Rangers turned back indoors, Celebsul met Anardil's fuming gaze and said quietly, "Aerio is out there. He will have found her trail if anyone can."
Taking a long, shuddering breath, Anardil nodded, and let the elf's touch on his sleeve urge him back towards the inn. A swift passing spatter of feet was the hobbit Milo, running to take charge of Sev's horse and cart. Bob and Elros were already pounding upstairs to get their gear. Gambesul would return with whatever of his elven brethren had not left to the reforestation camps this morning. All was happening out of Anardil's control. His boots thumped on wet wood as he mounted the stairs, still carrying his sword as he had left the scabbard inside. A sword that might as well have been a stick of firewood for all the good it served him now. Sev was out there in the storm in the hands of strangers, and the joyful reunion he had anticipated was collapsed in ruin - and he stopped so suddenly Celebsul side-stepped to avoid collision.
Feeling the elf's eyes on him, he turned and looked out past the dribbling eaves into shadowless haze of rain. Sev was out there. He would find her. And those who held her abruptly ceased to be anything but obstacles. Carefully he took a long, deep breath and felt the chill air settle in him and pool in his belly, tendrils of cool calm flowing into muscle and sinew.
"All right," he whispered.
He met Celebsul's calm gaze then, and wondered what thoughts shaped themselves behind those ancient eyes. How did an elf reckon mortal friendships? Keenly, he thought, for it was Celebsul's word that was setting them on the path to Sev's rescue. With a brief nod he turned and went inside.
Within moments Celebsul gathered his own equipment, neatly sidestepping Bob's galloping rush about their shared room. Neither spoke, for there were no words needed to spur their urgency nor did either wish to voice their fears for Sev or Nik. If both were held captive by the same men, men who seemingly bound their hatred of orcs to their interest in the gems Sevi traded from them, every implication was ominous. Sword and bow, knife and warm clothing, Celebsul rapidly enumerated his gear. Across the room Bob slapped an extra knife into its sheath, and a sudden thought struck Celebsul. There was one to whom Nik's well being was particularly dear, and his formidable presence might yet prove of value.
Turning Celebsul knelt and pulled a wooden chest from beneath his bed. Among other items lay a smaller box, and cradled in a swath of soft purple cloth he found what he sought, a great horn of softly gleaming dark wood bound with silver and brass. "Anywhere in Middle-Earth." Those had been Russ's words. Cel wondered if it would work. If this indeed possessed the virtue attributed to it, maybe it could hasten the bear-man's arrival. 'Better safe than sorry,' he thought as he clicked the lid closed. He glanced up and met Bob's curious gaze.
"The gift of our neighbor, Russ the Beorning," said Celebsul. "When we finished helping him build his lodge. He said if we ever had need ..."
He let the sentence die unfinished, but Bob simply nodded. "Aye," was all he said.
Twenty minutes later, the spattering thud of many hooves swept past the front of the Burping Troll. Celebsul and his apprentice, Gambesul led Anardil, two Rangers and the elven brothers, Firnelin and Anbarad, out the north gate. Loping alongside with greater speed than a stranger might have reckoned were the two orcs, Hooknose and Lugbac, while following closely at their heels was the warg. Behind them on the porch, the hobbits Meri and Erin huddled to either side of Elanna, while Camellia clung pale-faced to Milo's hand as the company vanished into the drifting veils of rain.
Meri felt Elanna trembling against her, and looked up at her half-elven friend. "Come, Elanna. It's cold out here, and we mustn't catch chill."
She and Erin gently tugged her hands and drew their friend indoors, into light and warmth and dubious shelter against their fears. Meanwhile Anoriath stood unmoving as the rain poured down, watching the now-empty road with her heart in her eyes and her hand on the rounded swell of her belly. For the first time in her life the lady Ranger was unable to ride to the aid of a friend, and she could only hope her quick, desperate prayer was answered and Sev would be returned to them unharmed.
xxxxxx
Afternoon
On the road north
Hoof beats spattered a steady drumbeat as the hunters from the Burping Troll struck a long trot towards the first leg of their search. Beside them jogged the dark forms of their unlikely guides, the orcs Hooknose and Lugbac. As his horse's pounding stride drew near Lugbac, Anardil found his gaze drawn in grim fascination to the steady lurch of the creature's shoulders, matched by the continual bobbing of its misshapen head. Ungainly though they seemed, there was a terrible sort of power in that ceaseless pace that suggested there was simply no limit to an orc's endurance; they could run until a quarry was dead or they themselves were slain. Then a thrill of pain shot down his left arm - an arm that no longer existed beyond a stump, thanks to an orc's brutal sword-stroke, and Anardil exhaled sharply. With stiff heels he nudged his horse up beside Elros', putting the orcs behind his field of vision.
On they went, the wet road splattering beneath them and Warg loping tirelessly in front. Two miles out Hooknose gave a harsh cry and waved one clawed hand. There stood the bare, twisted form of the lightning-struck oak where they had found Sev's abandoned cart. As the company halted, the elf Firnelin leaped from his horse and trod swiftly over the ground. Warg slunk swiftly to join him, pausing only briefly to shake water from the thick mane of her coat. Anardil hunched his shoulders under the extra layers of wool beneath his cloak, and watched the rain drum slashing dimples in mud and water. It chilled him to imagine Sev caught alone in this place, with only the stark black trees as witness.
He turned his attention instead to the elf's lithe form, trusting that he was indeed the hunter that Elros and Bob swore he was. Yet in seconds Firnelin looked up, grimacing within the shadow of his hood, and shook his head. Even Warg's intent casting about was finding little. The rain was destroying what sign there was. Deep grooves where the wagon had been pushed back onto the road were all that remained, the rest steadily reducing to puddles and brown rivulets.
"Over 'ere!" called Hooknose, and Firnelin sprang up the bank to join him. "Aerio left this for us. Gubbitch sez it points way."
Firnelin looked at the long twig laid in a tree limb and stepped past it quickly, warg and elf together forging deeper into the barren wood. Moments later Firnelin turned to glance over his shoulder.
"Here are horse tracks, and I see where Gubbitch and the other orcs have passed. The signs are dissolving fast, but enough to follow. Come!"
As his horse went by, the elf lightly sprang to his seat. Up the bank and away from the road they plunged, into dark trees grim with cold rain.
xxxxxx
Late Afternoon
Approaching the Orc Hunters' Cave
One would think three men and an Elf, all on horseback and riding in a driving rain, could not help but leave tracks in the sodden ground. However, it soon seemed the woods and rising broken hills worked against them. Hoof prints became puddles, puddles were the beds of fallen stones, and stones turned and rolled for no reason but the wet earth had let them go. What might seem deep punctures in the mud marking the passage of a horse might also be simply rodent holes or sunken roots that the rain had collapsed. Nor did Warg's keen nose fare much better, for such heavy rain fragmented scents repeatedly, dissolving them like wisps of mist.
Silently Anardil bowed his head and waited yet again, halting his horse with the others as Elros, Anbarad and Firnelin rode slowly ahead, scanning the sopping spill of hillside ahead. Warg bounded after them, but her big grey form then trotted in broadening circles and figure eights, nose to the ground with little result. Don't think, don't wonder, don't imagine, Anardil told himself yet again. Just watch the trees, watch for movement, do your job. Tumbled stones strewn with wet brown leaves lay between bent knees of tree roots, and the downpour continued to pound false impressions into the earth. But in moments Warg sprang atop a low ledge and sniffed intently, circled then paused, looking onward through a lane of tall thin trees.
"Here!" she growled.
Elros glanced back at the others and gave a tip of his head to move on.
Rangers, warg and elves alike put their best skills to the test, and breathed relief when every so often clear tracks appeared beneath sheltering limbs or in the lee of frowning boulders. As well, now and again bent limbs or stacked stones marked where Aerio had passed, but these were rather too sparse for the trackers' liking, certainly owing to the haste driving the young elf onward. Yet there was some faint comfort in that, Anardil found, knowing what he did of Aerio's intense loyalty and steadfast refusal to admit being bested at anything, whether a simple game of chance or outwitting a foe. Aerio had stood grimly ready to defend Sev when Anardil had first met them both in a back alley of Pelargir months before, and he had again come as Sev's companion and quasi-bodyguard when she visited Pelargir before Yule. Glancing ahead at Celebsul's hooded form, followed closely by his quiet apprentice Gambesul and the elven brothers Firnelin and Anbarad, Anardil wryly made a mental note that he would have to compliment Sev in her choice of friends. Even if her luck seemed determined to frequently test those friendships.
Then they climbed a long unsteady slope into wild dark hills cloaked in thickets of brush and trees, which were frequently broken open to the leaden sky by bulging knees of fractured black stone. Almost it seemed the bones of northern Ithilien had here and there worn through the growing fabric that clothed it. As Anardil peered from beneath his hood he glanced towards the mountains, but the clouds decapitated the towering Ephel Dúath utterly, and it was as if the mountains had been lifted all at once from the world, leaving only clinging, cold grey. Here he could well imagine the orcs kept their hidden lairs, and hidden stores of gemstones and any number of things. A creeping chill gripped him that was not only the weather, for memory whispered that it was not really so far from this place that the Captains of the West had walked living into legend, and stood for death or glory before the Black Gates. Aye, and he had thought to die there. Even though the taint of Shadow was gone and the work of elves and men blessed Ithilien once more, the clouds and mists shrouding the peaks now bode no less ill, for somewhere in this cheerless world Sev awaited rescue.
"Sevi ..." he breathed over the wrenching of his heart, and prayed she was whole and unharmed.
xxxxxx
The world shrank around them, changeless in the deepening gray and stark black ranks of barren trees. As the light of day faded mortal eyes would fail the task of seeking the trail, but Warg and the elves continued apace, while Hooknose and Lugbac lumbered on as ever. A soft hiss was matched by Firnelin's suddenly up-flung hand, and Celebsul lunged his horse up a brief slope to stop beside him. Then from the growing gloom came the last sound anyone expected - a piercing whinny. A sudden thudding and snapping of twigs was marked by another cry of equine delight, and a saddled horse hove into view. Straight to them it galloped until plunging to a halt, where it joyously snuffled the muzzles of Celebsul's and Firnelin's mounts. It was saddled, but the bridle was removed and tied neatly to the saddle.
"Aerio's saddle," said Celebsul quietly, and glanced back at the others. "Come," he said. "We are near something."
Abruptly Anardil's heart bounded into his throat, and he shook his head sharply, sternly willing himself to coolness. 'Think, nmad loof, 'tis no place now to let an anxious heart get in the way of a clear mind.'
Firnelin and the warg went forward first, two grey ghosts that seemed to flicker from mortal vision to be swallowed among the ranks of dripping trees. The others waited a small, tense eternity before a brief twitter of bird song drifted back to them.
Anbarad's eyes gleamed beneath his hood as he nudged his horse forward. "Come."
They had found where Sev had been, but not where she was. The wide mouth of the cave before them gaped black and empty, but the sour tang of wet charcoal and the headier musk of sodden horse manure told them plainly that the occupants had been there until recently. Elros and Gambesul hung back with arrows nocked to bowstrings as the others searched the cave and its environs. Several fire rings dotted the cave floor, and stirring the ashes with sticks yielded a dull residual warmth beneath doused coals. Bits of refuse, broken straps or buckles, a lost button, a broken lace, a torn blanket tossed against one wall, all spoke of several days' occupancy. The rough pole corral among the trees outside was thick with horse droppings, and scuffmarks to either side of a fallen log suggested the spot saddles had been stacked. Towards the back of the cave a sinkhole yawned. A burning scrap of cloth dropped into the pit revealed it as empty.
Beside Anardil, Bob stood grim-faced and shook his head. "We had cut back on the long perimeter runs because we thought the bad weather would slow things for the winter. It seems we were mistaken."
Hooknose meanwhile stood scratching his craggy jaw and gazed about. "So this is what it was about."
"Say again?" said Bob.
Hooknose shrugged. "We saw this lot. Pokin' all around in 'ills they were. Weren't our business an' we didn't want trouble, so we just stayed out of way."
Becoming aware of Bob's and Anardil's matched stares of shock, Hooknose frowned. "Didn't see no harm in it. Thought maybe they were doin' like Dwarves, diggin' about for pretty sto-wans and such."
Anardil turned sharply on his heel and strode away, while Bob bent his head and pinched his nose. "Hooknose," he said. "The next time you see bodies of armed men wandering around in the hills, no matter what they're doing, please make sure that we know."
"Can do!" said Hooknose with a cheerful grin.
At the cave entrance, Anardil stood watching the steady grey sheets of rain and fought the urge to throw something, anything, just to watch it shatter. It was no longer Sev in the hands of three schemers greedy for orc gems, it was Sev in the clutches of an entire band of men who obviously had larger and grimmer plans than any had previously thought. The three who had stopped at the Burping Troll had spoken of their hatred for orcs, even before they approached Sev with their twaddle about being gem-traders. Greed and hate together made a volatile mix, he felt certain this party had come here to assuage both, and Sev, his Sev, was in the middle of it.
Suddenly he became aware that Celebsul stood beside him, and he turned. One glance at the elf's silent compassion and his own gaze turned frankly pleading, desperately wishing that this extraordinary being who also claimed Sev as friend could somehow offer him assurance that this could still end well.
Though the one-armed man spoke not, Celebsul knew his fear and concern. "She is strong," the elf said quietly. "And she is both brave and clever. Further, at least two of the men, whom I now believe are the leaders, seemed men of good quality who might be less possessed of baser instincts. If their aim is indeed gems and orcs, I believe they keep Sev simply as a tool or leverage."
In a low voice, Anardil replied, "And that should comfort me?"
"Yes," Celebsul replied, and met Anardil's troubled eyes squarely. "For it will be Nik the uruk-hai they harm first, as a means to get Sev to cooperate without injury to her."
"Cooperate in what?"
"That we can only guess. Finding the gems, perhaps."
"And if she does not know?"
Celebsul's look hardened. "Then that is where she must be clever, and we must be swift."
The brief search of the cave ended, the little company returned to their horses. Firnelin and Anbarad swung aside to study a mark etched into a stone, then nodded to the others.
"Aerio is following them," Firnelin said.
Though unspoken, the thought was that at least now they would be trailing a larger group of riders, whose tracks the storm would not find so easy to erase. Yet it was those larger numbers that were also cause for concern, and the party found itself waiting as Celebsul stepped away from his horse and reached beneath his cloak. From under layers of cloth he drew the dark, curved shape of a horn. Meeting Bob's and Gambesul's questioning glances, he merely quirked an eyebrow. Who knew what the voice of a Beorning horn would bring? They were about to find out.
Bob watched Celebsul draw a deep breath and raise the horn to his mouth, then hesitate. Bob grinned. Was the old Elf nervous? It was only a horn after all. Well, wasn't it? Realizing that he too was holding his breath in expectation, his grin faded.
Celebsul was nervous. He felt absolutely ridiculous being nervous, but there it was, all the same. It was just a horn, he told himself. There were others like it hanging over nearly every mantle above nearly every hearth in middle-earth. This one was not at all unlike them, a little fancier perhaps, maybe even slightly better made than most. But other than that it was just another horn.
Except that it was different.
Celebsul couldn't put his finger on it, but he could tell from the moment he raised it to his lips that this horn was without a doubt different. He put the horn to his mouth, tightened his lips and blew forth a long, deep tone - the results were instantaneous. Warg let out a howl and bolted for the timber, while Hooknose and Lugbac threw themselves to the ground yowling and covering their ears. But to his own surprise, Celebsul found that he did not care. He should have, he knew this as certainly as he knew anything else. But he just did not, at this particular moment, care. At all. Because he…
… was flying. Rising straight up above his friends still waiting down below, though he took no notice of them. Suddenly they seemed unimportant. Instead he allowed himself to soar ever higher until he could see all of Middle Earth laid out below him. The clouds were gone and he could see Mirkwood and the silver ribbon of the Anduin shimmering in the distance and beyond it, the Misty Mountains. To the west he could see the great plains of Rohan and the lands of Gondor, while below and behind him the Mountains of Shadow and Mordor stood out as if carved and painted for a child's exploration.
He could see the Burping Troll and small figures moving along the road near it. Then he began to move, a gentle weightless swaying sensation that reminded him briefly of the effects of drinking too much Cherry B. He giggled. Then a gust of wind caught him with a sudden stomach-dropping swoop and began to carry him away to the west. Celebsul's breath caught in his lungs, or would have if he had been breathing. 'Have to work on that,' he thought, and then giggled again.
Below him the land fell away to the east and the green-silver mirror of Nindalf drew closer. He could see the dead marshes and Rauros Falls' white-foamed torrent and, farther up the river, Fangorn's brooding woodlands, then Lothlorien in a faint shimmer like distant starlight. He had never seen the lands this way. It was so beautiful. He had always known that it was, but to see it like this … he didn't have the words.
The wind gusted again and he began to move faster and faster still. The ground beneath him rolled away and began to blur. The sensation of speed brought with it a rising sense of urgency. This was not a sightseeing trip but a mission that he was on and suddenly the gravity of it came back to him. The sun began to fade and the clouds returned. There was a chill in the air. Without realizing it, he found himself looking down at a farm on the edge of the Nindalf marsh. He knew it well. He should, he had helped to build it.
Celebsul's stomach lurched and he began to plummet toward the farm. He flailed at the air looking for some impossible way to break his fall but of course he could not. The farm grew massive in his vision and Celebsul squeezed shut his eyes as he hurtled, spread-eagle, toward the roof of the lodge.
And ... simply passed through it.
Directly below him lay a sleeping "bear" of a man. It was Russ. Celebsul just had the time to notice this before he stopped, nose to nose with the big man. Eyes popped open, staring at the Elf hovering over him with complete equanimity.
"Yes?" Russ said.
Celebsul wanted to tell him everything. He wanted to explain about Nik and Titch and Sev and the strangers and the horn and how everything looked and …
He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was, "It's Nik. We need your help."
And then he was gone. Or rather Russ was gone, the farm was gone and Celebsul found himself back beside his friends, the horn still at his lips and the rain pouring down. While the apparent distress of the warg and orcs held the attention of Anardil and the elven brothers, the two Rangers and Gambesul stood staring at Celebsul, perplexed and perhaps a little disappointed.
"That's it?" Bob said. "That's all it does? One little toot? It wasn't even that loud. I think Russ must have been pulling your leg, there's no way he could have heard that."
Celebsul looked at Bob, then at the others. Firnelin and Anbarad said nothing, and Gambesul simply shook his head. However, Anardil returned his half-drawn sword to his scabbard with a click and shook his head.
"I don't think the orcs liked it much," he declared.
Hooknose glared at Bob. "THAT'S IT? HE SAYS!" the orc exploded. "THAT'S IT?"
Celebsul and the others turned and looked at the stricken orcs in astonishment. The two picked themselves up off the ground, eyes still rolling white, as Hooknose babbled on.
"Ah should think it's enough ah should! Why, they probably heard that all ruddy way to 'obbiton! Tha'd 'ave to be deaf not to. Put that thing away Master Celebsul, an' don't take it out ever again, ah begs tha, it's devil's tool."
"Aye!" snarled Lugbac. "Next time try drivin' a spike in me fore'ead! It'd be kinder! An' look at wot's 'appened to poor Warg!"
The beast was still racing wildly around them, her eyes wild with fear and anger. As they watched she flung herself to the ground and began to flop and twist as if her coat were afire, then dropped to her side and lay still, panting heavily. Celebsul ran to her, kneeling down at her side.
"Warg!" he cried, aghast at what he saw. "Are you hurt?"
Warg rolled over on to her belly and cast a woeful look at the Elf. "Well, I'm hungry and my head hurts, but I'll live. A word though, a little warning next time eh?"
Celebsul ran a hand down the stiff fur of her back. "As long as you're all right," he said, relieved beyond words.
"And hungry," Warg added, "Don't forget hungry."
Celebsul scratched her head and chuckled. "All right," he said, "Maybe I can find something." The two of them stood and headed back over to the horses.
"I don't know what so funny about that." Warg muttered.
Celebsul told the others about what he had experienced as they mounted up and headed off to find Sev and Nik. There were plenty of raised eyebrows and curious glances, but Celebsul ignored them for the most part. The elves and Rangers were certain that Russ could not have heard the horn and stated that it was as well that Nesh had been sent to his farm, just in case. Warg and the orcs felt quite strongly otherwise. Everyone had to have heard that horn. Celebsul did not know what to think. He was certainly unhappy about the reaction the horn had caused in Warg and the Orcs. And he was frankly surprised at the way it had sounded - or rather, not sounded - to Firnelin, Anbarad and the others. But he was pretty sure that Russ would be coming. Pretty sure. In any case, he was certain of one thing.
The horn certainly was different.
xxx
TBC ...