Author's Notes: A somewhat longer update this week. Enjoy. To readers in the USA, best wishes for the Thanksgiving holiday. Stay safe everyone.
In An Age Before – Part 202
In the afternoon of the second day following their leave taking from Dol Guldur, the four Yrch saw the nameless woman safely to the edge of Greenwood forest, and there they grunted their farewells and turned back towards the fortress. During the trek they had been tempted, sorely tempted, to stay and slay and feast upon her flesh, for she would have been far more tender than the meats they normally fed upon. Indeed the very scent of her was intoxicating to them and they could well 'nigh taste her, lightly seared and still bloody as they wrenched hunks of meat from her bones with their bare teeth. Alas, that boon had been denied to them in the most explicit terms, and the fear of their master and his black robed servants had held them at bay.
Now the blonde woman surveyed the broad and rolling grasslands of the Vale of Anduin, and the vista of tall mountains that lay far off in the west. She saw wind rippling through high grass as if t'were caressed by giant, invisible hands. The air was fresh and wild and it brought her joy.
Far closer to the west, a small herd of a half-dozen horses with coats of sundry colors grazed 'neath their stallion's watchful eyes. They bore no tack and no Men accompanied them. They too were wild and free and she delighted in the sight of them. Further off, perhaps a mile away to the northwest, a thin column of smoke rose, quickly scattered by the breeze. 'Twas a sure sign of habitation and kindly Lord Khamûl had said that Men of her kindred were settled in these lands. As she saw no trails leading in that direction, she set out cross-country at a leisurely pace.
When she began to walk, the horses moved off a ways, calmly and slowly, but with prudent caution, yet as she proceeded obliquely away from them, they followed at a distance, for they were curious by nature, and one alone who stalked them not seemed little threat. The woman continued on her way, and when she neither turned, nor gave chase, the horses dared to follow more closely.
By and by she came 'nigh the column of smoke and stopped outside a fence of split rails that ran on in both directions, enclosing a pasture sloping down to a yard and cabin, and wherein five large dairy cows grazed. One of these already stood 'nigh the fence, and espying her came and stretched its neck o'er. It looked her in the face with a solemn gaze as it chewed its cud. She found herself charmed by its innocence and she reached out slowly to it. It flinched not, but accepted a rub on its nose, voicing a soft, 'mooooo'. That coaxed a laugh from her and she reached down to grasp a handful of clover that had grown 'neath the fence rails. This she offered to the cow and 'twas accepted. It stood chewing as she rubbed its cheeks and scratched 'twixt its ears.
Soon another cow came o'er to join them at the fence, curious at first and then desirous of a share of her attention. She laughed and scratched it with both hands 'neath its ears. More time passed and the others gathered 'round. She talked softly to them, scratched their faces, and offered them handfuls of clover. They regarded her with gentle acceptance and she felt it a great blessing. Ere she marked it, an hour had passed and the sun was westering, approaching the peaks of the distant mountains. During that time, the small herd of horses had drawn closer so that they stood behind her some ten yards from the fence.
As twilight drew down, a Man, dark-haired, tall, and strongly muscled came up through the pasture from the cabin at the bottom of the slope. Each evening when the weather was fair, he came to lead his cows home to their byre for the night. In front of the cabin, a tall woman with raven hair stood watching. A son of mid-teen years, already hinting at his father's height and muscular build carried split firewood to stack in the box beside the hearth, whilst his sister, a couple years younger, prepared a stool and can in the open door of the byre for the evening milking.
Now the Man saw his cows gathered at the fence in front of a stranger, and behind her grazed a herd of wild horses. These he had oft seen aforetime, though only from a distance. 'Twas an unexpected sight. His cows showed no upset, no fear. The horses seemed to pay neither he, nor the woman much attention, yet they fled not at his approach and they had surely followed the woman hither. From a distance he heard her laughter and saw her stroking the head of a cow who had stretched o'er the fence rail to meet her.
Closer now, he marked her golden hair. She was not one of his people, even from the north or some distant holding 'cross the river, but rather one of the newcomers, the horse riders from the east. Some of these he had seen of late, refugees driven from their homelands fleeing war. They came through the forest, grim, fearful, and wary, and few enough had paused to talk. At least they had not tried to make trouble. He realized that 'twas the first time he had heard one of that folk laugh.
When he stood looking 'cross his cows at her, he marked that she was young, a beauty, but barefoot, holding a sack from which he detected the scent of apples, and dressed in the poorest cloth he had e'er seen. Surely the suffering of her people is great, he thought, and yet she smiles for joy's sake and is tender to beasts. He looked 'round, thinking that others of her kindred must be 'nigh, but it seemed that she was alone.
"Home now, Bea, Bec, Bev, Bes, and Bel," he said to the cows. By force of long habit, they turned for the byre and began their calm, slow walk.
When they had gone, he stood facing the blonde woman o'er his fence, unsure of what to say. For the first time he could recall, he felt no threat, no thoughts of gain, and no calculating self-regard from a stranger. The woman was alone, unarmed, and he pondered how she could have survived thus.
She offered him a smile and canted her head towards the cows, saying, "they are beautiful, innocent, and friendly. I am pleased to have met them."
He nodded to agree, thinking that she could have just as well been describing herself. O'er her shoulder, he marked that the horses had ventured closer. She paid them no mind.
"I am Baron, son of Borlon, a settler in these lands. May I know thy name, stranger?"
At his question, she wrinkled her brow and pursed her lips as if in concentration. At last she sighed and said, "I am sorry, Baron, but I know not my name or my people. I woke in a strange hall but two days past and would be there still but for the kindness of the lord who sent servants to guide me from the forest. T'would seem that I have forgotten all I knew."
She shook her head, unhappy, yet far from distraught. For his part, Baron was astonished by her candor and lack of panic. He thought that most at such a pass would be inconsolable.
"I am pleased to meet thee," she said after a short while. "Know thou 'aught of a people from the east who may look akin to me? I seek them in hope of finding whether my place is amongst them."
Whilst she spoke, she had drawn an apple from the sack, set it on her palm, and with her fingers set in a row, split it in half with her nails. She turned the fruit and split it into quarters, then flung away the core. One of the quarters she set upon her palm and held out her arm, bent somewhat at the elbow. Baron watched her and the stallion who was inching forward eyeing the apple slice, but also searching for any threat.
"I have seen such folk as thou seek, but none abide so close that thou could reach them ere dark," he said. After making a decision, he nodded to himself and said, "If thou hast no home and no shelter in these lands, then pray share the table with my family this eve. We have food and room for a guest, and perhaps we can share speech and aid thee in thy plight."
Whilst he had been speaking, the stallion had finally ventured forward and taken the apple slice from her palm with nimble lips. He stepped back to chew, but as soon as he swallowed, he came back, sniffing and nudging her hand. She set another slice on her palm and he took that with far less nervousness. This time he ate without backing away, and after swallowing the second slice, returned to lick and nudge her hand. A third slice was offered and accepted, and this time when he took the treat, she turned her hand and stroked his muzzle. At that, he backed up a step, but ere he finished chewing, a second horse came forward, and Baron deemed her the lead mare.
Straightaway this one came to the woman's hand and bumped it with her nose. The stranger set the fourth apple quarter on her palm where 'twas immediately taken by the mare, even as the stallion came forward again. This time, she made them wait as she took another apple from the sack and split it upon her palm. By the time she was done, the remaining four horses, including a second mare, two yearlings, and a colt, had gathered 'round her. Now she was forced to offer slices of the apple on both palms at once, the better to more equally distribute the treats.
Finally, after two more apples had been eaten, the horses were comfortable enough to allow the stranger to rub their muzzles without shying away, and finally she turned to face them and looked each in the eyes, one after another, whilst showing them the empty sack and her empty hands. With a parting bump of her nose, the mare led the herd a few yards away, and there they commenced to socialize and take turns dozing.
"I thank thee for thy kind offer, Baron, and I would be pleased to accept," she said.
She stepped 'twixt the fence rails and joined Baron in the pasture, then followed him downhill toward his cabin. In front of the door, Baron's family had gathered, waiting and curious. Strangers and visitors other than their own kindred were rare in that land, for the skin-changing settlers were few and lived in homesteads distant one from another. They had watched as the blonde woman fed the wild horses. When they reached the yard, Baron introduced his family to her.
"Here are my wife, Minya, my son Boron, and my daughter Marya," he said. "Here is a woman of no name who remembers 'naught of her life, but seeks after the newcome horse riders from the east, believing them to be her people. Please make her welcome for the night."
For a moment the three stared at her, and then Minya said, "be welcome, dear. Our people are few, but t'would be hard, I think, to have none."
Boron and Marya began to pelt her with questions, but Baron interceded.
"Is the wood box filled for the night, Boron? Are the cows milked, Marya?" Both shook their heads 'nay'. "Chores first, for they shan't do themselves, else we would be Wizards. Our guest shan't leave ere ye finish and supper is had."
Casting looks back o'er their shoulders, the two headed off, Boron to the chopping block and Marya to the byre. Minya gestured the stranger to join her in the cabin whilst her husband went to a shed to draw pitchers of cider.
The blonde woman followed her inside, finding a single open room with alcoves on one wall holding beds and chests of drawers for the son and daughter. O'er them was a partial loft with a broader bed for Baron and Minya. Along a second wall stood a hearth with a wide chimney of stone and a firewood box built in beside it. Pots and cauldrons hung on swiveling hooks, and there too was a griddle that could be swung in o'er the grate for baking. On the wall to one side were shelves with pitchers and mugs of fired clay and plates and bowls carved of wood. Beyond lay the entrance to a pantry. On the other side of the heath sat a stool and spinning wheel, and an upright loom. Baskets on the floor held balls of dyed yarn with knitting needles and partially finished projects lain aside. A trestle table and benches were set in the center of the room, and a group of wooden chairs before the hearth. Colorful weavings of abstract patterns adorned the walls, but 'aught else seemed utilitarian. 'Twas little made of metal and 'naught boasting of wealth in all their furnishings. The stranger nodded to herself and smiled at Minya.
"Thou hast a comfortable home, a handsome family, and all one might need to be happy," she said, smiling.
Minya smiled back with pride at her praise. Of material wealth they owned little, and yet as the stranger rightly said, she and her family were happy and thankful for what they had. With the long knowledge of their people and by their hard work, the land provided all they needed.
"I should start our supper, but ere that I want to ask if thou hast 'naught else to wear?"
"All I have is on my back," she said without a trace of self-pity.
"I have some clothes that belonged to my sister," Minya said, eyeing the woman for size. "I believe they would fit thee close enough. Would thou like to try some on?"
The woman nodded 'aye', though she seemed a bit uncertain. After a moment she asked, "Should thou not save them for thy daughter to grow into?"
"So I have thought, yet I believe there are enough to spare and time yet ere she grows to make more. Wait a moment and I shall see."
Now Minya went into the pantry and the sounds of rummaging could be heard. Having 'naught else to occupy her, the woman took plates from the shelves and set them at the table, then mugs, bowls, and the pitcher. When Minya returned shortly later, she found her table set and smiled her thanks. With her she had brought a tan blouse with a lace-up front, a brown skirt of wool, knee-high stockings, and a pair of worn leather shoes. She bid the stranger go into the pantry and try them on.
Outside, the sounds of Boron splitting firewood stilled. The stranger came forth wearing the clothes, the blouse a bit loose, the skirt a bit long, and the shoes a bit large. Minya stood looking and nodding to herself. Boron came in, his arms laden with firewood, and gawked at her a moment in surprise.
"Save for the shoes which I deem shall soon chafe, I am thankful for thy generosity, Minya. These clothes are far more comfortable than what I was wearing. 'Twas scratchy, and e'er harder to ignore."
Minya actually laughed aloud at that. The woman had been wearing a burlap sack with holes cut for her neck and arms. She had deemed it either the outcome of a wager lost, or such abject poverty that she would have felt guilty letting her leave as a guest clad thus.
"Let us see if we can tighten those shoes," Minya said.
By carefully cutting some scraps of leather and then gluing them inside, she made patches to fill the extra space. In surprisingly little time, the shoes were a passable fit. The stranger gave Minya a heartfelt hug, and in thanks, asked to aid her in preparing the evening meal. Baron returned with two pitchers of cider which he set on the table. He glanced at their guest and nodded in approval, then took the empty pitcher from the table and went to fill it with water. Marya returned from the barn with a can of milk which she brought to her mother. Boron brought in a second load of firewood to fill the wood box, and then set to rebuilding the fire.
The family worked together quickly and efficiently, obviously from long habit, and soon enough, their meal preparations were done. Minya was instructing their guest in the making of flat cakes from pre-mixed dough of flour, milk, honey, fine chopped nuts, spices, and salt which was kept in a wooden tub covered with a damp towel. 'Twas made in a daily batch each morning with the liquids added to the dry ingredients and activated with a small amount of 'starter', then left to rise. The dry components were mixed in large amounts and then stored to be used as needed. When meal times came, portions of dough were kneaded on a floured board and then baked on the griddle o'er the open fire in the hearth 'til they were thick, golden brown, and produced an enticing aroma.
The family and their guest sat down, and after observing a moment of silence and a few words of thanksgiving said by Baron, they ate the cakes with honey and butter, salads of fresh picked lettuce and onions, and baked apples. They drank cool cider and fresh milk and clean, clear water. The meal went on a while, with more cakes baked so that they were always served warm from the griddle. Like all their people, Baron's family consumed no meat. If the blonde woman noticed its absence, she remarked on it not, and perhaps she missed it not, for her only meal in memory had been that left for her the night of her awakening, and Sauron would not have Khamûl serve her any of the meats of Dol Guldur.
As they ate, they spoke of their day and made plans for the morrow, but much time they spent asking after their guest. Her two days of recollections were discussed and they left Baron and Minya perplexed. They knew of no walled estate of lepers. They had ne'er heard of a lord named Khamûl. Dol Guldur she did not name, and indeed she recognized that name not at all. In any case, none of Baron's folk had seen that evil fortress, nor knew for sure whither it lay. Only had they heard the rumor that 'twas somewhere in the southern part of the forest. All their lore told of the horror and cruelty of that place, and so it could not be the same as the kindly but doomed household she had awakened in.
Now being folk who rose with the sun, Baron and his family bid their guest a good night shortly following the clean up after their meal, and they bid her sleep wrapped in spare blankets beside the fire.
"In the morn we shall provision thee with foods for several days," Baron told her, "for though we know the newcomers live to the north, we know not for sure how far and it may take thee more than a day to come to them. If thou go west from our gate towards the river, then after two furlongs thou shalt strike a track running north-south. Keep the river and the mountains on thy left. Being riders of horses who use that track, thou shalt find them, or they thee."
In the morn, the woman found that Minya had quickly sewn the top of her sack dress closed, leaving what had been the hem open as the top of a sack. In it, Baron had packed a half-dozen freshly baked flat cakes, a small pot of honey, a small pot of fruit jam, and a half-dozen apples.
"Pray eat some thyself and give not all of them to the horses," he joked.
Boron came to her as she walked to the gate and offered her a walking stick, shoulder high and newly stripped of bark. She took it with thanks and the boy gave her a self-conscious smile.
Baron watched from the gate as she started off west. He was hardly surprised to see the herd of horses following her at a distance.
Now being summer, the weather was fine and the daylight long. Having 'naught else to do, she walked at a leisurely pace most of the day, stopping only to eat a sparing lunch and a sparing dinner, and then when dark fell, curled up 'neath the stars to sleep. Throughout that day the horses kept pace with her, grazing as they went, but always in sight. A second and then a third day passed in the same fashion as she made her way north. On the track, she met none.
Daylight lasted 'nigh fifteen hours in that season and she walked for twelve of them. The woman had no knowledge of that land or its landmarks, and so she had no way of guessing the mileage she had come. At her pace, the Vale of Anduin remained unchanging, rolling grassland with scattered trees, snow-capped peaks to her left, and to the east, a dark line in the distance that hinted of the forest. A huge sky hung o'erhead where puffy clouds sailed, and a pleasant breeze lifted her hair, keeping the heat of summer at bay. Noon of the third day saw her empty the last of the provisions from her sack, though she had given half the apples to the horses when they visited at dawn.
In the mid-afternoon she crested a rise in the track and soon deemed that she had come abreast of the column of smoke she had marked rising off to the west. For some time now she had seen hoof prints in the dirt. Shortly after topping the rise, she saw tracks leading down a side trail heading west. A smile shaped her lips. Just as Baron had said, the newcomers dwelt to his north. She had no way of knowing that she had walked one hundred ten miles in three and a half days. Another ten miles north 'cross Anduin lay the Gladden Fields.
She had come a furlong down the side trail when she espied a group of Northmen ahead. They were tall, golden haired, dressed in tunics and pants of coarse spun wool, and they wore leather boots. Most were armed with short hafted axes or clubs, but a couple bore swords. One carried a bow and quiver o'er his shoulder, and all wore helms of steel. She gave them a wave in greeting.
They marked her approach, walking alone up the trail towards them, a half-dozen untethered horses following at ten to fifteen yards in her wake. 'Twas the only thing remarkable about her, for her hair and clothing were akin to their own women folk. She bore a short staff that she used as a walking stick, carried an empty burlap sack, but bore no weapons. They reckoned she had been out foraging for food with little success, though she had come further than most women were wont to do.
"Good day to ye," she said by way of a hail, "is there a settlement of your people 'nigh?"
That drew the Men's attention, for if she knew not of their hamlet, then she was not one of their own.
"Whence came thee?" One asked as they drew together to block the path.
"Three and a half days I have walked north upon yonder track, having come west from the forest," she said, waving a hand back o'er her shoulder. "I seek people who may be akin to me, if they come from the east fleeing war."
At that the Men relaxed, for her story was the same as their own and that of all those they knew in these lands. She had just arrived a few months later.
"Then thou hast found us, for we too are refugees from the Kingdom of Marhari," said one of the two who bore swords.
That brought a smile to her face and the Men marked how it made her radiant.
"Can thou name any who are kin to thee? There may be family here to welcome thee," another said. Well 'nigh all their people had lost or left some behind and reunions were not uncommon.
"Alas, I cannot," she said. Sorrow darkened her features and the Men felt as though the sun had slipped behind a cloud. "Whether by misfortune, or wound, or horrors past, all memory has been driven from me. I know not whence I came, nor for how long I have wandered, nor even my own name. Indeed I recall 'naught from ere I woke in the forest a week past."
Her tale filled the Men with sympathy. They were soldiers who had seen the horror of war and the relentless destruction by the Wainriders from the east. The slaughter of their people had been great, the loss of their homelands and way of life traumatic, and their scattering a great blow to their pride. Those who remained free had fled north to Dale, or south to Gondor, or west through the great forest, leaving behind many who had been enslaved. From amongst those now oppressed by the eastern conquerors, some few still managed to escape, especially those who dwelt in the East Bight and along the verge of the forest further south.
The strange woman's plight they could easily imagine; invasion, defeat, slavery, and then escape and desperate flight. Such memories were the stuff of nightmares and each of them had some they wished to forget.
"We are a couple hundreds settled a mile to the west. Follow this path and thou shalt come to them," the Man with the sword said. "I pray thee find there some who recognize thee, but even if not, all shall welcome thee."
With a nod and a smile of thanks, she passed them and continued west along the trail. The horses followed in an arc that allowed them a wide berth 'round the unknown Men, and then they continued in the woman's wake. The Men watched 'til they had passed from sight, and then engaged in speculating about her. They knew her not, yet aforetime their people had been widely spread 'cross their lands and many had been displaced by the war. Of two things though, they were fairly sure. By her looks she was one of them. And though she came bereft of name and memory, her speech was fair and she led a small but functional breeding herd. That bespoke wealth and more to come.
The blonde woman continued walking west, and after the third part of an hour came to the source of the column of smoke seen aforetime. Past a rise and dip in the path, stood a collection of wooden huts with rooves of rushes, nestled amidst a copse of trees that grew along the bank of a narrow stream. 'Twas as sheltered a place as she had yet seen in that land. Though the homes had obviously been raised in haste, perhaps to be replaced with sturdier and more permanent structures should the people decide to stay, what struck her foremost was the people. Just a glance revealed many dozens moving about at their business. Some were alone whilst others walked in groups. Men, women, and children there were, most afoot, but a few astride horses. But the thing most remarkable was that to a one they were tall, with blonde hair in varying shades, and dressed much as was she. What proved to her that she might fit in amongst them was that whilst some marked her approach, few paid her more than passing attention.
As she drew nearer, she noted some further details of the settlement. Though a couple dozen buildings were clustered together, more were spread out with land 'round them sufficient to graze a horse or two. She even saw a few parked carts. As her eyes rove o'er the settlement, she realized that more homes stood apart than in the hamlet's center.
At the point where the distance 'twixt her and the closest homes was 'round twenty yards, the herd of horses stopped and stood shifting nervously. She saw that they were shy of coming closer to so many strangers and the scent of so much smoke. They were wild and there were horses amongst the settlers that could try to disrupt their herd. Finally, the mare led them away, back down the path 'til they came to a place where they turned south and then jumped the stream. The woman watched them stray into a field of grass that none of the settler's horses grazed, and there they stayed. Almost at once she missed their company, for they had shared her road since she had come from the forest.
After watching them a while, she walked into the hamlet. The people nodded to her in greeting as she passed, and she returned their nods. She marked that few smiled. Finally, as she neared the cluster of homes, she met three women and a girl and bid them a good day. They nodded their greetings in return and 'twas only after she was passing them by that the eldest of them spoke, the first there who had said 'aught to her.
"Good day to thee as well," she said. "Art thou new come to Vera¹? I recognize thee not." ¹(Vera, Refuge Old Norse)
"Aye," the woman said, "I have ne'er set foot here aforetime."
"Art thou visiting thy kin then?" A second woman asked.
"Nay, for I know of none hither, though I hope to find some that might know me."
"Many hither have lost kin since fleeing the east. Perhaps some shall be known to thee, or thee to them," the first woman said. "I bid thee good fortune in thy search." Beside her, the others nodded in agreement.
The stranger dipped her head to honor their good wishes, wished them well in return, and then continued on towards the center of the hamlet. Reaching it took her but another few minutes. There she stood looking 'round as the people went about their business. There seemed to be no town hall or lord's home. After watching a while, she marked none who seemed to hold any authority at all. When she thought back on it, even the soldiers who guarded the path had not appeared to have a captain.
Finally, after lingering and being seen by those who were 'nigh, but attracting no more than passing attention, she turned south and came to the stream. 'Twas neither deep, nor swift and the banks were not high. After a look back, she doffed her shoes and stockings and waded the stream. The blonde woman climbed the further bank and stood in the field, and there, some fifty yards off to the east was the herd of horses. They greeted her with whinnies and trotted o'er to gather 'round her. She greeted them happily, for it seemed that they alone took delight in her company. Some in the hamlet marked their meeting and then went back to their labors, curious, but preoccupied.
Soon evening drew down and with no supper to eat, the woman lay on the soft grass in the field and stared up at the brightening stars 'til sleep took her. Sunlight woke her in the morning and hunger set her on her feet, walking southwest with her sack seeking for 'aught that she could find to break her fast. As had become their habit, the horses followed her and she took comfort in their company.
She walked for two miles ere coming upon a second stream, wider and deeper, that ran through the grassland. A furlong off stood a goodly copse of trees and 'round them, where the sun shone down bright, grew many lesser plants. There the woman found a sprawling blackberry bramble, the shoots heavy with berries, and a little ways off, the taller, prickly shoots of raspberry. It took her little time, choosing and picking the ripest fruits, to drive off her hunger.
As she sat in the sun after, relaxing and watching the clouds sailing by o'erhead, she gradually became aware of a constant buzz carried on the breeze. She recalled hearing the like not so long aforetime and a smile shaped her lips. After assuring herself of the direction, she rose and walked further along the stream bank, and rounding a hillock, came upon the collapsed remains of a cabin, barns, and the fallen rails of a fence. Stretching out 'round her stood fields, wild sewn with wheat, rye, oats, and lucerne. Close by the ruins were the o'ergrown gardens of wildflowers and vegetable patches of the settler who had once dwelt there. Perhaps a couple decades had passed since those days, yet the fieldstone chimney still stood. In the shelter of the fireplace, the swiveling iron crane remained, and hanging from it, a cast iron cauldron. 'Nigh what had been the door stood a trio of apple trees grown great that now shaded the home. 'Twas from the upper trunks and crowns of the trees that the buzzing of bees came. The nameless woman gave thanks, and then she set to work.
Summer passed to autumn and autumn to winter. In that time, she had given thanks many times, first for the axe and other tools found in the remains of the barn. It had needed rehafting, but the iron blade was sound. With it she salvaged wood and felled trees. She rebuilt on the foundation of the cabin, raising walls 'round the chimney. As one alone she needed but a quarter the space of a family, and so she enclosed two fathoms by the three fathom breadth of the hearth. What had been the rest of the cabin she enclosed for 'her' horses, as she had come to regard them. When the chill of winter came, they took to sheltering from the wind and snow 'neath the roof she had thatched, and ate the dried grass she had cut and stored when forage outside was buried. As she had learnt in one night's stay with Baron's family, she had stockpiled firewood, (some of it old fence rails), harvested grain, dug potatoes, carrots, turnips, and onions, and picked lettuce from the old garden. Many of the root crops she stored during the cold months in the stone-lined root cellar she had found. The settlers had built it adjacent to the hearth where their food remained cold, but not frozen.
The woman survived the winter of 1856, spending much time weaving baskets of grass, and in the spring of 1857 she cleared and turned the soil in the garden and began planting the year's crops. The fields proved too great a task to plow and turn that year, but she spent long days weeding so that the grain could grow and eventually be harvested more easily. Also in that spring, the second mare foaled, whilst attracted by the food and the resident horses, two more young mares were enticed to join the stallion's harem. Having no dairy cows, the woman built no fences, allowing the horses to come and go as they pleased. By choice, they stayed.
Having no sheep, she was unable to spin or weave to replace her increasingly ragged clothes. Finally, as summer opened, she harvested the earliest berries from the brambles by the stream. Though the fruit was not yet ripe, she climbed an apple tree with a smoldering rope of partially dried grass and tranquilized a nest of bees. There she made off with a hunk of comb dripping with honey. The nameless woman rigged a pole to carry 'cross her shoulders, and from it hung baskets of fruit and honey.
The next morning, she walked back to the hamlet of Vera. If 'aught had changed there, 'twas that a couple more homes had risen, but all else was as she remembered it from the past summer. After spending most of the morning seeking for any who would trade for a tunic and skirt, she finally came upon a family who kept sheep. The Smala-maðr, or Shepherd family, directed her to another family who carded and spun wool into yarn. The Vefr-maðr, or Weaver family, ran a loom and produced cloth. From their wool cloth they tailored the clothing for those who did not produce their own, including many of the soldiers.
"I need clothes fit for farm work," she said, "a tunic and a skirt, which must surely be a simpler pattern than a pair of pants."
"Aye, a skirt is simpler to sew, and for one of thy height, requires less cloth as well," said Thyra Vefrdóttir.
"What hast thou to offer in trade?" Leif Vefrsune asked.
"I have both sweet berry fruits and honey in the comb which ye may eat or…" the nameless woman began.
"Or make into wines and mead!" Leif exclaimed, a broad smile lighting his face.
The woman had intended to say, 'or bake into cakes', but seeing his glee she held her peace and simply nodded in agreement.
They looked o'er her baskets of berries and honeycombs and after surprisingly little haggling, agreed that what she had brought plus another basket each of blackberries and raspberries would be sufficient in exchange for a tunic, skirt, and a pair of stockings of good quality wool. If she could bring those things two days hence, then she could leave with her finished clothing. They closed the deal and the Weavers invited her to stay for the noon meal. She parted from them after and returned to her homestead from the hamlet of Vera.
Now she did indeed return with more berries and received her new clothes, and left with the agreement that for bringing another smaller portion of honey comb, she would also receive her old clothes darned and mended to give further service for a while. When she returned for them, she also bartered some honey and berries with the smith for two knives, one with a blade of four inches and a second with a blade of ten.
Another project occupied some of her time each day. The foal born that spring was growing fast as healthy foals do, and whilst the woman spent time with all the horses, she doted on him especially, building trust and familiarity from his first days. Because his dam and the rest of the herd trusted her and she was always 'nigh, he grew up knowing her scent, the sound of her voice, and the touch of her hands. He came to trust her more than the rest of the horses did, ate 'aught that she offered him, especially the occasional carrot or apple slice, and was soon trotting 'round her, chasing the treat in her hand as she spun in circles. 'Twas a game to him, and he would oft walk up and butt her with his muzzle, prancing 'round her trying to initiate play. Sometimes she would wrap her arms 'round his neck and give him hugs, furthering his acquaintance with her touch.
A great triumph she achieved on a summer day when he was just past his third month. She had woven a thin mat of grass, the same on which his herd fed, the material familiar in all respects, and this she draped o'er her shoulders as a cape. The foal would nibble at the edges and took to pulling it off her shoulders and dragging it whilst capering 'round the herd. On that particular day, she caught the edge opposite him and they had a tug of war. By then he already outweighed her twice o'er and his withers were 'nigh breast height to her. When he backed away, he pulled her along and she was forced to give way a step at a time. Much laughter accompanied this new game as the older horses watched.
Eventually he tired and dropped the cape. She came o'er to give him the familiar hug 'round the neck, and after he lay down to rest, she swept the cape up and laid it on his back. Rather than leaping to his feet and bucking or running off in fright, he twisted his neck 'round to nibble at it and pull it off. She grabbed an edge and after a while, the game resumed, yet now at each restart, she laid the cape on his back.
The days passed and the foal became used to the feel of having something draped o'er his back. When he was preoccupied with a treat in her hand, he left the cape alone and 'wore' it 'til it fell off, for 'twas light, smelled familiar, and was no bother to him. By the end of summer, when he was a half-year old weanling, he was willing to spend hours wearing, not the cape, but rather a more extensive woven sheet with a girth strap and a basket attached on each side. Soon she would begin to acquaint him with the added weight of cargo in the baskets, but during that summer, 'twas enough that he learnt to be comfortable wearing the panniers.
Also during that summer, the elder of the yearlings left the herd to roam ere joining a bachelor band or a new herd as a subordinate stallion. Meanwhile, the herd stallion bred with the two new mares when they became fertile and with the lead mare as well during her estrus. The apples ripened on the trees, the grain grew tall in the fields, berries weighted the shoots of the brambles, and the bees spent the long days attending the wildflowers that grew in the yard.
With the autumn of 1857 came the harvest. Now for the first time, she put a horse to work. The panniers on the foal carried a wealth of berries, apples, and vegetables back to her room in the rebuilt cabin. Despite some early mishaps, he eventually performed well and was rewarded with many treats.
Sheaves of wheat, rye, and oats she brought from the fields, to be threshed on a large woven mat by simply walking o'er it. To winnow her grain, she tossed handfuls into the air where a light breeze blew off the chaff. The grains were set aside to be ground into flours on a flat stone, or simmered in the cauldron with berries and apples, whilst the stalks became bedding for the horses. Though her grain fields were not planted in the most efficient fashion, still the yield of wheat alone from the acreage originally planted by the settler left her with almost eighteen stone¹ by weight. For one person baking bread daily, the requirement was about eight stone. Of rye, she harvested nine stone, and of oats, twelve. Atop what she left standing in the fields and what she set aside for seed, she realized that there was still much available for trade. ¹(18 stone = 252lbs, 1 stone = 14lbs)
After her first small harvest of honey in the spring, the nameless woman repeated the process twice more. At mid-summer she took a bit more from each nest, and in the early autumn she took more. She had discovered three colonies, one in each tree, sheltered where several branches grew 'nigh cavities in the upper trunks. By careful observation, she learnt that the honey was to be found in the uppermost parts of the comb, whilst the lower parts held pollen and larvae. Each time, the woman took a part of the uppermost comb, leaving the rest to ensure that the colony survived. The bees were productive with all the flowers that grew 'nigh, but her harvesting was not. She determined that she would give thought to making the task easier and more rewarding.
Now along with the honey, she also got beeswax. This was a resource of equal value to her, for in those days, 'twas the only material she had with which to seal her baskets, for she had no way to make pottery or wares of glass. Neither of those was produced in the hamlet of Vera either, and so she could not trade for them. The people there made buckets and casks of wood, but that required tools and skills she had not. For that time, she was left with weaving the tightest baskets she could, reinforcing them outside with dried clay, and then rubbing beeswax onto their insides. 'Twas sufficient to store her honey as well as the sauces and fruit that she would preserve by sugaring.
The three apple trees in her yard produced fifteen stone of fruit o'er the course of the late summer and autumn. As it ripened, she ate her fill and used some as horse treats, but she also boiled much of it down in the cauldron, making an apple sauce. More apples she sliced and these, along with the apple sauce, she mixed with honey and packed in baskets sealed with beeswax. Since summer, she had preserved many berries in the same fashion, in a thick syrup of honey, and because of the high sugar content, the fruit spoiled not. One other method to preserve food the woman used that winter, simple drying. With her longer knife, she sliced more apples as thin as she could and strung them to dehydrate in her hearth, and when their season came, she chopped onions and dried those as well.
Winter arrived, and by now the horses were well acquainted with their indoor shelter. The new mares had taken to it as well, having joined the herd in spring and grown familiar. The nameless woman wove for herself a bulky, ankle-length cloak of straw and a broad, conical, basketry hat to match. From a distance, she looked much like a small Troll, but she was protected from the cold and wind when she had to attend to outdoor chores or go to muck out her 'stable'. Rather than taking fright at her appearance, the horses nibbled at her cloak as she raked away their excrement, replaced their bedding, and refilled their water trough.
Now during the short days of cold, the woman wove more baskets and mats, and gave thought to the colonies of bees. She was sure that there must be some better way to harvest honey and beeswax whilst preserving the colonies. Alas, she had not seen the stacked wooden hives that Baron's family maintained, and she was unwilling to walk the hundred miles back for a visit. Since she was by then a proficient weaver, she tried to imagine housing her bees in sturdy baskets with removable tops that would allow her access to the combs. For days she pondered the problem, imagining solutions and reasons for failure. Bit by bit she refined her ideas and hopes, and just after Yestarë, she began her fabrication.
From the wood pile she selected two short sections of a log, in diameter roughly equal to the length of her forearm and hand. The ends she flattened and the centers she copped away, leaving two wooden rings, one about two inches thick, the other half that. The thinner ring she broke into three equal, arc-shaped pieces, and she set the ends of each into seats carved on the upper edge 'round the opening in the thicker ring. Next, she took the straw of wheat and rye and tied it in narrow bundles that formed many yards of continuous rope the thickness of her thumb.
Carefully she eyed the row of wooden arches, and she coiled her rope into a dome-shaped basket, leaving space so that it ne'er touched the arches, but sheltered them and could be tied securely in place. Now she repeated her process to enclose the space 'neath the wooden ring, weaving a taller conical basket to hang down, and at its apex she left an opening of a four thumbs' width. This basket too could be securely tied so it hung from the underside of the ring. At the very bottom, she wove an inverted funnel shape that was closed at its point, and this she affixed into the bottom of the lower basket to leave a circular opening whose gap would admit 'naught larger than a honeybee. In the spring when the earth softened again, she would sink three poles in the midst of the wildflower garden, and there set the hive 'neath a conical woven 'roof' much like her hat. To finish the woven parts of the hive and the roof, she coated her straw rope with a mixture of clay and chopped straw, a substitute for the dung of cows which she had not. (This design is closely based on the Sun Hive, created by the German bee keeper and sculptor Günther Mancke.)
So 'twas that through the winter she ate her honey cakes and tended her horses. When finally the days began to grow longer and she felt her potatoes and carrots in the cold cellar softening, she chopped these too and dried them at her hearth lest they grow rotten. From those dried flakes and the flakes of onions, she made many hot soups 'nigh as thick as stew, and she had a gruel of oats with dried apples and berries to break her fasts. The spring of 1858 opened and she had survived a second winter.
Thereafter the years came and went in peace. Slowly she improved the cultivation of her grain fields. The bees formed a new colony in the hive she built and she added several more in the wildflower garden. The nameless woman planted and harvested crops, and traded her surplus with the Northmen in the growing village of Vera a few times each year. She acquired buckets and casks of wood, and nails and a hammer of iron.
Each year some horses left the herd and others joined. She ne'er constrained them. More foals were born and these she trained to carry the panniers, and to drag a travois in their second year, but in 1860 when he was three years of age, she trained the first colt to allow her to ride. By then his trust in her was complete and 'twas only the commands she gave by leaning, or with the pressure of her knees, that he had to learn. Like the Elves, but unlike the Northmen, she rode bareback. No bridle, reins, saddle, or stirrups did any of her horses wear, for she still had no ability to work leather. No sources of skins, furs, or hides had she, for she did not hunt. Indeed since waking to her new life, no meat had yet passed her lips.
By then some acquaintances she had maintained in Vera, foremost amongst them Thyra the weaver's daughter, Leif the weaver's son, (who now bartered wine and mead as well as wool), and Smiðr the blacksmith. Having ne'er declared a name when asked, they took to calling her Einn, which signified 'Alone' in the Old Norse tongue. Only her horses accompanied her to the hamlet, and they awaited her return in the field on the far side of the stream. The colt she rode now, who had become familiar for carrying the panniers during the past two years, they took to calling Hestr-einn, 'Lone stallion'. Having no name herself, she had ne'er named the horses.
Somehow fifteen years passed as the woman that the people of Vera called Einn cultivated her fields and tended her crops. Her bees produced increasing amounts of honey, horses foaled, grain grew, and her prosperity increased. She had become well known in the hamlet for the produce she traded. There were people who had survived winters only by virtue of the grains and flour, dried apples and berries, vegetables and honey that she brought to trade. For the easing of their commerce, the people of Vera built a narrow bridge spanning their stream, ten feet of timbers and boards broad enough for a horse to be led 'cross. Einn now had a dozen horses that she could ride, or use to carry panniers and drag travois. Another eight were more or less wild members of her herd. Because of the help of her four-legged 'friends' she was able to farm increasing acreage with increasing efficiency, leading to increasing yields. Also during those years she finally acquired a pair of milk cows and three sheep.
'Twas during that time that her closest acquaintances, Thyra, Leif, and Smiðr began to notice that the years seemed to pass her by so that she appeared unchanged. They and all the people in the hamlet had grown older and the accumulation of ageing, hard labor, injuries, sickness, and periodic hunger had left them physically changed. Skin wrinkled, hair greyed, teeth decayed, and eyes no longer saw as sharp. She was past being simply blessed with a good constitution and they had begun to wonder how she could be so well preserved, for none doubted that her life entailed as much labor and hardship as did their own. People looked at her with wonder that slowly grew to jealousy and suspicion. Things could have gotten unpleasant.
Of old, the kindred of Men had been given the 'gift' of death and escape from mortal life, but unlike the Númenóreans who kept their health and remained hail 'til 'nigh death, the Middle Men went slowly to their graves, aging and dying a bit with each passing year. By 1871, Einn was noticeably untouched. Her skin was as smooth and soft, her hair as full and lustrous, and her eyes as bright as her acquaintances in Vera could remember her being on the first day they had met her. Gossiping and speculation took hold as they began to ponder the possibilities of an Elvish heritage, or sorcery.
During those years, 'cross the river in the Hithaeglir that none of the Northmen had explored, a terror had grown amongst the Yrch. Many of that kindred had perished two decades aforetime in the defeat of Angmar at Fornost, and immediately afterwards an unknown threat had come upon them in their lairs and warrens, smiting their bands and slaying their companies. None living had seen this foe, but caves found filled with dead bore words scrawled in blood, "Im belthant huiniath!"
The nameless terror had been moving south with methodical precision and diabolical intent. In a warren north of the headwaters of Sír Ninglor that the Yrch called Artjut, Goldwater, the captain of a band of two dozens was cunning enough to know the terror would soon be upon him. His cave lay two leagues south of the last emptied warren with but a couple small Orc holes 'twixt them. Coward that he was, he easily persuaded his band to flee to the lowlands where, he told them, plunder and sport were abundant. 'Twas late spring of 1871.
At first they made their way along the banks of the river, and they even came upon an isolated village of Periannath, Stoors who had not fled o'er the Misty Mountains seven centuries ago. The Halflings were good sport and good eating, easily taken prisoner and easily spit roasted, though they had little plunder to offer. Still, the captain considered it a good start and his boys agreed as their bellies were full and none had taken harm in the campaign. Encouraged, they continued down river, and after another twenty leagues came to the marshes, the Gladden Fields.
Now that soggy hell of flowers was recalled in their lore. Long ago in that place, some of their folk had slain the King of Men and achieved a memorable degree of vengeance for their losses in the Great War. The warm glow of their reminiscence lasted all of a half-hour ere more pressing concerns impinged on their festive mood. There was 'naught in that place to be had of sport, plunder, nor was there 'aught to fill their bellies. They certainly could not eat iris flowers. Worse, they had all seen the paths leading through the marsh and those paths were made and used by Elves traveling 'twixt the High Pass from Imladris and the Golden Wood of Lórinand. They were two dozens in the open and they would not engage such foes by choice.
Two possibilities lay before them. Either to march a hundred miles north on a road built and traveled by Dwarves, or to contrive some rafts and cross the river Anduin that lay before them. To the Yrch, 'twas hardly any choice at all. They set to work hacking down any plant large enough to earn the name of 'tree'.
Eventually they managed to cobble together two crude, leaky rafts of wood lashed together with iris stalks, and using their hands as paddles, they crossed the river in the dead of night with much cursing and grumbling. The current carried them downstream as they slowly fought their way 'cross, and so as the night grew old they came aground on the east bank, but two miles north of Vera.
With the hated sun soon to rise, the captain ordered his troop to haul their rafts ashore. These they leaned against the trunks of trees a short way inland from the bank, and 'neath their shade they cowered through the hours of daylight. As the dawn brightened the sky, they saw the smoke of cook fires rising to their south and they reckoned a small settlement lay 'nigh. When blessed darkness returned, they would seek for new prey.
Now even ere they had crossed Anduin, the Yrch had been espied by the sharpest eyes in Middle Earth. The Great Eagles maintained their aerie in the peaks of the Eastern Hithaeglir, but three leagues north of the High Pass. They had come thither in the first years of the Second Age, after their previous homes in the Crissaegrim were drowned in the Whelming of Beleriand. Since those early days they had kept a lookout, marking the movements of the Yrch and others who had fled the War of Wrath and would do evil. From those frigid heights they rode the thermals and soared up and down the range, hunting and e'er watching for threats. Little passed amidst the mountains or in the Vale of Anduin that they did not see, and from time to time they acted on what they saw. O'er the past couple decades they had marked the increasing slaughter of the Yrch, and whilst this was welcome on principle, it did deprive them of both sport and food. So they tightened their watch, and though the new killer was possessed of unnatural stealth, the Orcs were not.
Because of their increased watchfulness, the Eagles witnessed a band of Yrch abandoning their cave, and they reckoned that no good would come of it. So they kept their eyes on that band as it made its way from the foothills of the Misty Mountains towards the banks of the great river. They saw the smoke of the roasting as it rose to the heavens after the slaughter of the hamlet of Stoors, but alas, by then 'twas too late to intervene. The massacre had occurred 'neath the canopy of trees 'nigh the banks of the river Ninglor and even the Eagles could not see through leaves and branches.
A few days later, when the Eagles saw the Yrch preparing their rafts to cross Anduin, they soared far above and came to the lands east of the river to offer warnings. The ground passed 'neath their swift wings and the homestead of the settler Boern they marked, thirty miles south of the islet that lay midway 'twixt the Old Ford and the Gladden Fields. They deemed that he dwelt too far away to act in time. Besides, Boern had become less welcoming of late, for the Eagles, (Meneldor foremost amongst them), had been wont to carry off a sheep or calf from time to time.
Further south they glided, their eyes seeking for villages and fires and the rise of smoke in the dark. Ten miles north of the Gladden Fields lay the southern fortress of the Northmen, Sunnan Hǫrgr they called it, the Southern Sanctuary of their people. They numbered four and one half hundreds within their wooden palisade and 'nigh one hundred fifty of those were riders. Sunnan Hǫrgr stood but twenty miles north of Vera.
Now when dawn's light came, the sentries atop the watch towers within the palisade marked the flight of a huge bird soaring on high o'erhead. 'Twas surely a hawk or eagle and they marveled at the size of that raptor. Lower it circled 'til finally it swept in o'er their settlement where it spread its wings, stalling its flight, and with its great talons flexed, came to roost atop the easternmost tower of watch. The sentries there panicked and abandoned their post, expecting at any moment to be snatched up and carried away. The Eagle watched them, chuckling, for he would have preferred to carry off a sheep or cow instead. All 'round him the common people fled, clamoring in a great uproar.
"Hail, O riders of Marhari. I am Landroval, vassal of Gwaihir the Windlord. I come bearing tidings of fell deeds in the offing," he said as he eyed them sternly.
The soldiers stood in slack-jawed astonishment 'til their lord Hrólfr hastened thither seeking the cause of his peoples' upset. When he heard Landroval's words he bowed to the Eagle and approached the tower.
"I am Formaðr¹ Hrólfr, vassal of my king Marhwini. What say thee, Lord Landroval? Fell deeds awaken?" ¹(Formaðr, Captain/Chieftain, lit. Fore-man Old Norse)
"Lord Hrólfr, I have seen a company of Orcs who crossed Anduin in the night. They threaten a small settlement of thy folk which lies twenty miles south," Landroval said.
"Swina bqllr!¹" Hrólfr cursed. He turned to the sentries that had abandoned the watchtower and ordered, "Marshall the riders!" ¹(Swina bqllr, pig penises Old Norse)
Now despite their haste, it took the better part of an hour for the Northmen to muster and ride. The captain chose a hundred to accompany him and left the remainder to guard Sunnan Hǫrgr. As the thunder of their horses faded into the distance, Landroval leapt from the roof of the watchtower, sailed o'er the settlement, and after clearing the palisade, stooped to snatch up a sheep ere flapping and making his way back 'cross Anduin. The Northmen, with Captain Hrólfr at their head, hastened to the north-south track and then turned south. Throughout most of that day they rode at a trot that their horses could maintain for hours and still have strength for battle. As the afternoon faded, they began searching for a path leading west towards the river, for so small was Vera that they were unsure of exactly whither they were bound.
In the hamlet of Vera all passed as it always did and 'naught of remark occurred. The people went about their day's labors with the same mix of attention and boredom as e'er afflicted them. The spring planting was done and the days of weeding had come. Those who plied crafts attended to the commissions received from their neighbors, some door hinges to forge, a pair of trousers to sew, some staves to shape for a bucket, or a horse to be shod. And e'er there were cows to be milked, pigs to be slopped, and sheep to be herded 'twixt pastures. None thought the day would end in any manner to which they had not become long accustomed.
As Anor sank 'neath the pinnacles of the Hithaeglir, the Yrch crawled out from 'neath their rafts. Being crowded together all day was only a small measure better than being exposed 'neath the sun, for they all stank and none smelt better than their own selves. Indiscriminate defecation and urination had made the conditions well 'nigh intolerable even for them. By evening they were hungry and thirsty, bored, quarrelsome, and irritable. Despite the lingering twilight, the captain herded his company towards the column of smoke lest their rancor graduate to brawling and give them all away. They went south 'neath the trees, reeking and seeking the cover of such shadows as they could find. After a mile and a half they could clearly smell the Men and animals and see the individual columns of smoke rising from individual hearths. The verge of the wood lay close ahead and beyond, a small hamlet. Mouths watered in anticipation as they fondled their weapons.
A great truth there is in music that for any crescendo, no matter how minor or quick to pass, all the voices and instruments must play together, whether in harmony or dissonance. Each has its contribution to make, each in its proper time. 'Twas so in the First Song wherefrom come the deeds that make up the history of Arda Marred, and on that day, Landroval, the inhabitants of Vera, the Yrch, the Northmen of Sunnan Hǫrgr, and Einn all had their parts to play.
As the folk of Vera stayed their labors and went to their boards for the evening meal, the Yrch snuck from 'neath the trees and crept 'cross pastures towards the homes of their prey. Captain Hrólfr led his riders down a side trail off the north-south track, and he eyed the failing light with trepidation. Two miles to the south, Einn was walking her dairy cows to their byre for the evening milking, just as she had once seen Baron son of Borlon do. By then, her sheep were settling in their fold and the bees had congregated in their hives.
In the evening's quiet peace, the Yrch invaded the hamlet of Vera, and they broke into home after home, terrorizing and slaughtering all within. The screams of women and children were as music to their ears ere they clubbed them to silence, whilst they gleefully in sliced the bellies or hewed off the heads of the fathers, sons, and husbands who tried to protect them. Had they continued thus, they could have emptied the whole of the settlement with none the wiser, yet where there is fighting, there is fire.
So 'twas that some amongst that company could not resist putting homes and barns to the torch, and the flames leapt up into the night. Cries of fire and screams of terror grew 'til people were charging from their homes into the darkened lanes, and they saw the flames rising and the smoke billowing, and they saw the Yrch slaughtering their neighbors with joyous abandon.
Two miles to the south, Einn saw the flames rising and knew something terrible was happening in Vera. She reckoned that by some accident the hamlet was burning, and she guessed that perhaps some sparks from Smiðr's forge had set the roof thatching of his smithy afire. In hopes of bringing aid to her friends, she leapt upon Hestr-einn's back and galloped north on paths as familiar as the backs of her hands. And as they were long accustomed to doing, the rest of the herd followed in their wake.
On the westward path leading from the north-south track, Captain Hrólfr and his riders charged forward in the growing dark, for the raid of which the Eagle Landroval had warned had come to pass. He knew not for sure how far ahead the hamlet lay, but as the flames had just begun to rise, he deemed his riders might still rescue some of their kindred and slaughter some of the Yrch.
The Northmen topped a rise in the path and followed it down through a dip, and then they saw flames and heard screams where homes burned amidst a copse of trees 'nigh a small stream. Spears were leveled and swords unsheathed, and as they charged up the path into the hamlet they saw their foes. There were the Yrch, running down fleeing villagers whilst brandishing studded clubs and jagged swords. Their shouts added to the din of terrified cries and the collapse of burning rooves and cracking timbers. The riders saw an Orc slice open the belly of a woman and then kick her body into the flaming ruins of her home. Then the riders were upon the Yrch and the massacre began.
"Slay them all! Leave none alive!" Captain Hrólfr cried out to his Men.
"Death! Death! Death!" They shouted out in return, and 'twas hard to mark which were the more bloodthirsty, Men or Yrch.
With their great advantage in numbers, the horsemen chased their foes 'twixt burning huts and their hatred was very great. Bitter were their strokes with swords and axes, and many a spear was slammed into the back of a fleeing Orch. Rather than stand and fight, the Yrch scattered and had to be hunted down and slain one at a time and so the fight was prolonged. For the Orcs, 'twas no longer a night of joyous sport with gleeful slaughter.
Being cowardly at heart and knowing when a fight had turned against them, the captain and three who clove to him snuck out of the hamlet heading south, and they found a bridge crossing a narrow stream. After assuring themselves that none watched it with the melee raging behind, they crossed with as much stealth as they could contrive. They had come perhaps eighty feet up the slope of the rolling rise past the bridge when they heard the thunder of hooves, and they froze in the dark just shy of the crest, waiting to see whether they should try to evade or attack.
So 'twas that Einn, charging north to aid her friends, burst o'er the hilltop at a full gallop with twenty horses behind her in a close formation as wild herds are wont to run when they have no riders to set their spacing. In the dark they had no time to turn aside, and they ran down the Yrch and trampled them 'neath their hooves in the haste of their passage. It took but split seconds, and then they were crossing the bridge into the hamlet with Einn looking on in horror at the burning.
Bodies she saw lying in the lanes and she guessed that three of four homes were aflame. Strangers girded for war rode hither and thither 'round the buildings chasing down a few armed figures afoot. Yet most of those riders sat on their mounts in the center of the settlement, and many were now watching her. They had heard the charge of horses from the south, and they knew that all of their number was still in the village. So they had turned to await friend or foe and perhaps continue the battle.
What they saw was a single woman bearing no visible weapons, golden hair flying in the wind of her haste, riding bareback and leading what looked like a herd of wild horses. She had run down a group of Yrch and ne'er even looked back.
The newcomers halted just 'cross the bridge where eight of the steeds balked and would not enter the burning town. With a gesture the woman dismissed them and they returned 'cross the bridge and galloped away, back into the south whence they had come. Then she rode towards them with a dozen horses that kept close together, not a shred of tack on any of them. As she passed, she dipped her head to them in a silent greeting, but stayed not and continued her advance into the hamlet. There she slowly rode from building to building, taking the measure of the destruction.
Einn found not a single soul from Vera who still drew breath. Amongst the fallen, she marked some of the strangers checking the slain, seeking for pulse or breath and turning away shaking their heads, grim at the confirmation of so much death. She went to check the homes of her friends, the Weavers, the Shepherds, and the Smiths. Those homes had been burnt and she found no bodies. She could only guess that they had died in the ruins of their houses and shops. Her horses greeted some of the surviving sheep who had fled their fold and escaped. In the yard before a byre that somehow still stood, a cow nosed the carcass of her slain calf whilst two others looked on. A few houses down the lane she opened a chicken coop so that the birds might fly in the morning and seek their own living in the wild after. A fog of shock had settled 'round her and she rode Hestr-einn in a daze.
All dead, she thought, everyone I know is slain. Again I have no name.
To Be Continued