Chapter Two
October 22nd - Henneth AnnûnOn the front step of the rambling building that housed the Ranger presence in the village of Henneth Annûn, an unlikely pair faced each other. One stood tall and stern with a sword at his side, garbed in the greens and browns of an Ithilien Ranger. The other seemed but a weed of a man in comparison, until one noted the shrewish obstinacy punctuating his every word.
"You are certain, Captain, that the orc and his keeper will appear at the expected time?"
The stone face adopted by Tarannon at the beginning of this session with Valthaur's law clerk somehow held firm. Regardless of Khint's obvious belief that this hearing was a matter far beneath his master's notice, the Ranger remained determined nobody involved would find fault with the way he or his men conducted themselves.
In a voice known to freeze the entrails of young recruits, Tarannon replied, "Captain Halbarad has given his word."
The clerk's facial expression, limited to jerks of his dark, spiky eyebrows and moustache, displayed neither intimidation nor reassurance. Small, skinny and bald, everything about Khint seemed unremarkable, everything but his facial hair and equally spiky attitude.
"Perhaps it would be best if you sent an escort of Rangers."
The muscles of Tarannon's jaw tightened slightly. "I don't believe that will be necessary."
"If your men are otherwise occupied, I am certain we could request some from the garrison."
Striving to keep his voice lowered, Tarannon said slowly, "A Ranger's word has been given. The orc will be here on the twenty fifth."
"I do hope your trust is not misplaced, Captain." Khint's moustache curled into a sneer that begged to be slapped away, but again Tarannon's control held. The clerk peered around, eyebrows flapping like batwings, and continued, "However, if you are certain, we will let the matter rest for now. As for Lord Valthaur's accommodations, your sacrifice of your own quarters is greatly appreciated. Neither of the inns I saw when I rode through the village would be adequate. You said room is available here for the other staff?"
To Tarannon's relief, one of his Rangers arrived to offer assistance. Gladly, he gave the clerk over to the younger man's keeping, claiming other duties. If Khint wanted to perform yet another review of the housing arrangements, he could damn well do it without wasting any more of the Captain's valuable time.
Then while he marched stiffly away, Tarannon quietly cursed each resident of The Burping Troll Inn and its surrounds. Every ounce of trouble that came the his way lately had been grown, brewed, or otherwise brought into existence by that peculiar crowd. The sooner they completed their affairs in his nice, peaceful village, the happier he would be. He only prayed the village still stood when they left.
xxx
October 22nd
Under a sky darkened by the approach of night and rain, Darien and his group rode into Henneth Annûn. Dusty, hungry and weary, they hoped to find ease for their discomforts at The Whistling Dog. Leaving his men with the horses, Darien walked into the tavern where the innkeeper's face lit up in recognition. The cheery greeting warmed the traveller's spirits, though Cameroth's response to Darien's request for accommodation for nine men proved less heartening.
"Sorry, we're unusually busy - even got some of the Rangers sleeping here so this judge who's coming can stay at the station. I've only got one room spare. It could take up to four of you; the rest can bunk down in the barn if you wish. We can surely feed you all, and maybe find enough water for everyone to clean up." At Darien's doubtful expression, Cameroth grimaced and continued. "There's probably space at The Black Cauldron, if you'd prefer."
Grimacing in return, Darien replied, "I'll ask my men what they want to do, but I'll definitely take that last room. I'm sure most of us would prefer your hospitality and fare."
Back outside in the deepening dusk, Darien explained the situation and suggested, "Horus, Evan, Neal and I could take the room here." He glanced at the fifteen-year-old. "I'd not want Evan going to The Black Cauldron or sleeping in the barn. The rest of you can stay where you prefer. Whatever you choose, I'm buying supper for us all tonight."
Osric's insolent voice smeared across the gathering. "From what I've heard there's nothing wrong with The Black Cauldron - more fun over there than in this stiff-necked place, orcs or no. I'll go there. You coming with me?" His eyes took in Tom, Ham, Bevin and Carrick.
"Sounds good to me … if we can eat here," Ham replied jovially. Tom nodded in agreement.
Gaze fixed on his horse's mane, Carrick muttered, "Think I prefer the barn."
"Me too," Bevin agreed.
So they reached an understanding. Osric, Tom and Ham would go to The Black Cauldron; the rest would stay at The Whistling Dog. All would meet at the Dog for supper.
No one paid much attention to the man wandering aimlessly nearby - a clerk or apothecary, pondering his papers or which herb to add to some obscure cure. Darien cast a look over his shoulder. At some level of consciousness, he felt disturbed. But no eyes peered back. Nothing flickered beneath the bristling brows of the stranger in the street. The scent of herbed mutton dragged Darien's feet back into the warmth of the tavern. A bath, a pint of ale, then supper with his men - let all else wait until tomorrow.
xxx
Last to take his seat for supper, Neal nodded to his captain's quiet question. "Yes, sir, the horses are all comfortably bedded down and fed."
While Darien smiled approval, the glance that shot from Tom to Ham to Osric indicated that they had not checked their own mounts' accommodation at The Black Cauldron. Darien and Horus exchanged a brief look but said nothing, sitting back to allow the serving girl to set a large pot of soup in the centre of the table. A brief scramble for the ladle ensued, Osric winning and spooning his bowl full to almost overflowing. When the ladle came Darien's way, he handed it to Neal, whom he knew would then pass it to Evan. The pot held more than enough for all of them. With bread and two further courses, no one would go hungry tonight, but old habits died hard.
Finally taking his share of the soup, Darien only half-listened to the chatter surrounding him. Osric, being the loudest, hogged attention as much as he did food. Breaking bread to dip into the appetising broth of vegetables and meat, Darien again noticed the innocuous, bushy-browed man seated at a nearby table. He thought no more about it, aside from a passing tinge of sympathy for a man supping alone. But that pang of emotion triggered nostalgia for his lost friend and second-in-command, Landis.
The comradeship of Darien and Landis survived years of fighting off orc attacks, years of war. After war ended, they rode side-by-side in orc hunts, leading their men, clearing out the last remnants of the enemy. Then fate brought them to this region, brought them to folly where a landslide separated them. Landis held true to his noble nature, deep in that cave. When Grady, the mercenary, grew insane with claustrophobia and threatened to kill their two captives, Landis intervened; despite being already injured, he fought to protect the intended victims. Grady not only wounded Landis, he viciously ensured the wound would prove fatal. Many of the trapped men wished to avenge Landis, but the kidnapped uruk moved faster than any, ensuring the mad man could not complete more of his murderous intentions. Those events ultimately led them here.
Osric's voice filtered through the reverie. "… all this fuss for some ruddy little vermin. Anyway, I said I'd do it and here I am."
Frowning, Darien bit back a retort. What would be the point? The man had honoured his vow to come and tell the facts. It was not incumbent on him to change his likes and dislikes. Let it suffice that in three days time, Osric and the other witnesses simply tell the truth.
xxx
October 23rd
After a day of exploring the town, Osric, Ham and Tom chose to try the fare at The Black Cauldron. The previous night they sampled the inn's ale after returning from The Whistling Dog. They found the taste and, particularly, the price agreeable. As Darien did not again offer to pay for supper, they were content to eat at the less expensive inn.
The food turned out to be strongly flavoured and plentiful. That the plates and cutlery were smeared did not register. If the cabbage had hung longer than the game, it mattered not. Ale ran free from flagons carried by buxom wenches and subservient orcs. Away from the scrutiny of Lord Darien, the three men let their manners settle to a natural level.
Pushing back his empty plate, Osric let out a loud belch and rubbed his stomach in contentment. With several pints of the local brew under his belt and a full belly, he and his comrades counted themselves well sated.
After taking a deep quaff of ale, he wiped his chin on his sleeve, nodded at one of the serving girls, and observed, "She's a sight for sore eyes."
"Aye," Ham agreed, licking his finger then dabbing up a few leftover crumbs. "Better to look at than that ugly so-and-so."
His friends followed his gaze to the gnarled figure of an orc who cleared a vacated table. Tom hiccuped in lieu of response.
Osric sneered. "If we have to let the things live, then that's how it should be - them wiping up our mess. Darien's a fool to think any orc's worth more than spit."
"Aye," Ham agreed, as usual.
"I hear you owe your lives to an orc."
Tom, Ham and Osric swivelled round to see who addressed them. A bald, moustached character leant over from an adjoining table, his remarkable eyebrows quivering for a response.
"How do you work that out?" Osric asked angrily.
The eyebrows twitched as if caught between flight and landing. "Beg your pardon. Are you not the men of Lord Darien, here for the trial of that orc?"
Osric scowled. "What if we are?"
The moustache twitched much like the eyebrows had done, in what may have been a fleeting smile. "It's simply a fascinating story. I read books, you see. History is my speciality. We do live in most interesting times, don't you think?" The stranger hunched forward, folding both hands neatly beside his empty plate. "You men are walking participants in history that is being written even now."
Ham and Tom stared woozily, while Osric drew himself up as straight as six pints of ale would allow.
"Well, now -."
Ham ripped an enormous belch, and Osric backhanded him across the chest. "Shut up, fool!" he hissed.
While Ham blinked in confusion, the stranger continued eyes bright with interest. "Rumour has it that all Darien's men would have been charged with murder if that uruk hadn't killed one of your men who had gone mad."
The expression on Osric's face grew even darker. "Grady wasn't mad until we were buried alive with an orc and a witch."
"Aye." Ham nodded at Osric's words.
"Hiccup!" said Tom, and nodded also.
The amazing eyebrows leapt as if they might fly off the man's forehead. "Astounding. What a perfectly hideous situation. Is it true the uruk said you would all suffocate?" the stranger ventured.
"It did - that was what made Grady scared." Osric took a swig of ale before explaining, "Then he wanted to kill the uruk to preserve air. There was no law against that then."
"True." Dark brows gathered in sympathy. "Not much different to snuffing out the lanterns." Sighing briefly, the man added, "I do not envy you such a grim experience. I dare say I would not be brave enough to withstand it."
A grin slid across Osric's flushed cheeks, and he slung an elbow into Ham's ribs to make sure his comrade paid attention. "Well, we were orc hunters, see. It takes a particular sort of man to do that kind of work."
"Yes, yes, I can see that." A pale hand briefly stroked the dark moustache, while brows worked in strange patterns of thought. "There was a cave collapse, do I understand correctly? I would imagine that made the situation dire, indeed. It is my observation that the basest nature of man and beast will appear in such moments of crisis, the true character distilled, as it were, and stripped of all pretensions. Undoubtedly the orc resorted to his most bestial instincts as well, did he not?"
Blinking, Osric tried to pick through that deluge of words. "I reckon so."
Sadness bowed the stranger's thin shoulders. "I see. Then your Grady is himself a victim, cast into the darkness together with man's oldest foe."
"Aye..." Osric nodded slowly, eyes fixed past the lantern light. "It got right dark in there. Felt like the walls were closing in."
Wincing in sympathy, the stranger said, "I shudder to imagine. I can almost see it - poor Grady, fearing he might never see the blessed Sun again. He must have acted in sheer desperation, to save his friends and himself."
Ham heaved a great sigh, while Tom slowly shook his head, studying his hands on the table.
"Hiccup!" echoed Tom dolefully.
Turning sharp eyes to Osric, the man asked, "So, this poor Landis fellow got in the way, did he? Jumped in between Grady and the uruk at the wrong moment and got skewered by mistake?"
Osric frowned, as if trying to retrieve the memory. "Aye, that's how it happened. The orc scared Grady, making him try to kill it, and Landis just got in the way."
Ham nodded then Tom nodded and puffed his cheeks around a stifled hiccup.
The stranger tugged at his moustache thoughtfully. "What a terrible, tragic blunder. So you are saying the uruk goaded Grady, making him accidentally wound his own friend?"
"Miserable creature - yes, he caused that."
"Seldom have I heard a grimmer tale. I should think Grady was horrified, frozen even."
"Aye. Like time stopped, it was."
Mournfully the man shook his head. "I can picture it so clearly. While Grady stood transfixed at his terrible mistake, the orc took him unaware and killed him."
Simmering anger curled Osric's lips and his knuckles tightened around his tankard. "Aye, it did. Knocked the living daylight out of him. Hit him over and over again."
"Why didn't you stop it?"
Osric blew out a breath and shook his head. "Happened too fast. And we knew that if we killed the uruk, its friends would kill us all. There was a ruddy great, murderous Beorning rampaging outside."
The moustache turned down at the corners. "A terrible dilemma. If you ask me, that wicked uruk just wanted Grady dead at any cost. It almost sounds like it had a grudge against him."
"A grudge?" Osric frowned.
"Why, didn't you say it goaded Grady, daring him to kill it?" The man's eyes narrowed and he raised a sharp finger. "I am only a man of books, but yours is a tale to rouse the meekest soul. Oh, how its black heart must have rejoiced, to know you dared not take your revenge. The rest of you didn't matter, live or die. Perhaps it needed most of you alive to help dig it out."
"Mebbe you're right, come to think of it." Osric emptied his tankard then glared at the orc who refilled it.
As the orc moved away, the stranger shuddered beneath his robes. "I do beg your pardon for calling up such dreadful memories. I fear my passion for knowledge sometimes overcomes my sense of propriety."
Shaking his head, Osric grumbled, "We'll be telling the tale at the trial anyhow, so once more doesn't matter."
Ham hunched over his own drink and remarked, "It all seems so long ago. My memory was a bit hazy. Now I can recall it all as if it were yesterday."
"Hiccup!" said Tom, and nodded in agreement.
The stranger stirred, then, and rose to his feet. "Someone should write your dreadful tale one day," he announced, spiky eyebrows fluttering upwards as if leaping to attention. "In the meantime, I am grateful that you were willing to share it with me. Good night, gentlemen."
"Night," mumbled Osric, with Ham echoing.
Tom merely responded, "Hiccup!"
"SHADDAP!" Osric and Ham bellowed as one, and Tom jerked upright with eyes popped wide. That, at least, made an end to his hiccups.
Yet as they worked their way into another round of ale, it dawned on no one to question how the stranger knew of Landis. They did not realise they had never spoken their dead comrade's name.
xxx
October 24th - Northern Ithilien
"Are you absolutely certain you have everything?" Exasperation thickened Sev's Rohirrim accent, and she frowned as Erin attempted to stuff a jar of marmalade into the already bulging pack sitting beside the main door of The Troll's common room. "You do know you don't have to go with us."
"And leave you to face Lord Valthaur alone? Why I couldn't do that!" was the hobbit's breathless reply as she struggled to hold the pack upright.
"Alone!" Sev pointed out the window to the courtyard, then grabbed the jar and put it into the saddlebags hanging on the chair beside her. "I won't have a moment of solitude for the next week!"
In the yard in front of the inn, a veritable whirlwind of activity took place, saddled horses standing while people milled and bustled about. There two dark heads marked Halbarad's and Anardil's preparations, both tall men dwarfed by Russbeorn's massive frame, while nearby passed silver-haired Celebsul. Far less handsome to the eyes were the remaining three: orcs Gubbitch and Lugbac, and little Nik, the runty Uruk-hai at the centre of it all.
Erin brushed wisps of curls off her face and gave Sev a woebegone look. "Well, if you don't want me to go, I won't. I only meant to help. I mean, you might need someone to talk to."
There was no denying it would be nice to have someone other than men and orcs to talk to, and Erin could certainly be counted on to have more topics of conversation than the approaching trial. Besides, how could she hurt the hobbit's feelings?
"Oh, very well," Sev exclaimed. "Don't blame me if you are bored stiff. Halbarad assures me this will be a very tedious affair."
"That would be a good thing in this case." Erin frowned thoughtfully. "Did I remember to pack the mint tea? I better run and see if there's any in the kitchen."
Stifling the urge to remind the hobbit that a supply of mint tea was easily attainable in Henneth Annûn, Sev slung her saddlebags over one shoulder and hefted Erin's pack to the other. Made lopsided by its weight, she staggered to the door and down the steps. Caranroch gave a long, bubbling snort of equine misery at the sight of the massive bundle.
"Don't complain to me," Sev muttered to the horse, glancing at him while she put her saddlebags on her own mount. "Talk to your mistress. She's the one whose pack is larger than she."
Next, she hoisted the hobbit's pack and heaved it onto Erin's little horse. Grimly she reflected that it was a good thing hobbits were small, as a grown man or woman would never fit on the same horse.
"She quivered her chin at you?" Anardil asked, reaching his hand over her shoulder to steady the pack.
Sev spared him only a fleeting look as she tied the rawhide strings attached to the plump roan's saddle tightly about the bulky bundle.
"No," she replied sharply. "Erin reminded me the unleavened company of males was a fate to be avoided at all costs."
Anardil chuckled and placed his hand on her shoulder. "She will help keep all of our hopes high, Sevi, for there is little that dampens the spirits of a hobbit lass."
"And our spirits need to be raised? Our worthy Captain insists we have nothing to fear." Tipping her head toward the steps where Halbarad was bidding farewell to Bob, his second in charge, she silently dared Anardil to voice his concerns.
"The facts are plain enough and will speak for themselves." When Sev frowned, he shook his head. "Rather than worrying about the hearing, you would be better employed turning your mind to your pet orc. He insists you promised he could come along."
"Lugbac is not my pet, and I made no…" Sev moaned and covered her eyes. "Nmad, of all the things for him to remember."
"Did you tell him he might go to the village? After the last incident?"
"It was not all his fault," Sev hissed. "Besides, he paid for the damages himself with the stones he dug from the hills. And yes, before you ask again, I did tell him he might accompany me after the winter wheat was sown."
"Then you needs must go and explain to Gubbitch, so we might get on the road. If we do not arrive before sundown, Tarannon of Henneth Annûn will send someone to look for us, and that I suspect will not set well with Russbeorn."
"No, I dare say not." Sev glanced toward the towering Beorning and the half-sized Uruk-hai. "I will soothe the orcs whilst you assist Celebsul with Russ."
"Are you certain you wouldn't like to exchange chores?" Anardil murmured into her ear.
"Why, sir, bears must certainly fall under the jurisdiction of Rangers." Sev's eyes gleamed with quiet amusement.
"A good reason if I ever heard one to be happy I am no longer a Ranger," Anardil grumbled.
She patted his arm in false sympathy and said, "The sooner we sort them out, the sooner we leave. 'Tis the job never started that takes longest to finish."
Tugging futilely at the lower edge of the stiff leather brigandine she wore and pasting a determined smile on her face, Sev strode across the courtyard. There she placed herself between the gnarled Gubbitch and the lumbering Lugbac. Speaking rapidly, she explained to the orc chieftain that she had indeed sworn to allow Lugbac to accompany her to Henneth Annûn after the harvest was completed.
"If tha says so, Mistress, but he's bound to cause havoc."
"I won't. I swears I won't." Lugbac pleaded.
"This is not just a regular trading trip, Lugbac. Do you understand why we're going?"
Lugbac's brow wrinkled, and he replied even more slowly than was his norm. "Cause those there fellers we dug out of mountain are coming back. And we're gonna meet 'em."
"Yes, so you must be on your very best behaviour. Don't touch anything unless you ask Gubbitch or me first."
The enormous orc tucked his hands behind his back and nodded. "I'll remember."
"Good, then go hold Erin's horse while she climbs on."
With a grin that revealed every one of his carefully filed teeth, Lugbac lumbered away.
"'Bout as long as it takes to sneeze is how long he'll remember what tha told him," Gubbitch said sourly. "Thy ought not encourage him. He don't have brains to think by his sen."
"He's never had much call to before now, has he? There's always been someone telling him what to do, controlling him."
"Now, missus, tha just don't understand."
"What should I understand?"
"That no matter all tha fancy words, most orcs won't never gonna amount to much. Too many years following orders to be doing ought else. Lugbac's happier lettin' other folk make decisions."
"How will he know any different unless he's allowed a chance to try?"
"Tha saved his hide last time, tha gonna do it tomorrow? Or next day? No, missus, tha let me deal with him. Keepin' him out o' trouble. Standin' beside him when he causes some. That's my job, so tha King says."
Sev closed her eyes for a moment then nodded, spun on her heel and walked away muttering, "My King! Huh. He's nothing to do with me…"
Nearby, the tiny figure of Nik the Uruk-hai peered up at the tall figures of Anardil and Celebsul the Eldar, and the towering giant, Russbeorn.
"Why can't I ride Warg?"
A chuckle rumbled in Russ' throat. The talking she-warg was as much a wonder of The Burping Troll as the balrog bartender.
Celebsul explained, "Though the people know her well enough by now, it would cause a fuss … an even bigger fuss than we will cause, and goodness knows that will be fuss enough. She wouldn't enjoy it either; town is no place for a warg. Better that she stay here, helping guard the inn."
Seeing the sad frown on Nik's face, Anardil offered some alternatives. "Russ prefers to walk, but you might be better on a pony or riding with one of us."
Nik, however, drew himself up as tall as his stunted physique would allow. "If Russ will walk, then I will walk with him. I'm much stronger than I look, and I never get tired."
A chuckle rumbled in the Beorning's massive chest and his bearded face beamed down proudly. "True. You're as strong as an ox. We can keep pace with horses burdened with riders…" Russ looked across at Caranroch, "and saddlebags weighted with a hobbit's estimation of the necessities of life."
xxx
Henneth Annûn
Pausing amidst her collection of dirty tankards, the pretty, redheaded barmaid of The Whistling Dog glanced out the front window. Her mind adrift in other things, she turned away and then abruptly spun back.
"What on earth?"
Looking up from the ledger, which refused to balance, Cameroth asked, "What is it? Not trouble, I hope."
He received no reply; Sira was already headed for the door. The innkeeper hauled himself out of his chair and followed her. In the doorway both stared in amazement.
Down the street rumbled the biggest, most ornate carriage pulled by no less than six almost identical bays. Deep purple feathers plumed on the heads of the horses and at each corner of the coach's roof. Seated high upon the driver's bench, two men in gold-trimmed, purple livery seemed oblivious to the people who rushed out to watch the spectacle go by. The six soldiers riding escort were much more vigilant, peering at the onlookers as if each might be an assassin.
"Well I'll be - did you ever see the like?" Cameroth spoke in tones of disbelief. He scratched his head while the phenomena continued in the direction of the Ranger Station.
Sira folded her arms and muttered sullenly, "No prizes for guessing who's inside."
Sighing, Cameroth nodded slowly. The ordinary peace and quiet of the village of Henneth Annûn was about to be shaken awake.
xxx
Having seen the irritating clerk only briefly this day, Tarannon's spirits verged upon content, which was a heady emotion in the Ranger Captain's limited repertoire. Only one thing marred his mood - the way Khint's moustache twitched with smugness when the small man scuttled past returning from breakfast. Asses should properly be stabled, in the Ranger's opinion, but at least this one he would endeavour to meet as seldom as possible. Nonetheless, the thought of the clerk holed-up in his allotted room with that self-satisfied expression pasted on his face made Tarannon pull at his collar to loosen imaginary tightness.
That pang of sourness fled, however, when the Ranger stepped outside the barracks and felt the earth tremble beneath his feet. Alarmed, his hand reached for the hilt of his sword. Could an army of orcs be approaching? His eyes almost popped out of his head as he saw the vehicle rumbling slowly towards him, purple plumes nodding in the afternoon breeze.
"Oh, my giddy aunt!" he breathed, resorting to his mother's odd retort to unexpected events.
The coach lurched to a halt beside him, the driver cocking his whip to become a haughty statue in his high seat. Tarannon watched while a liveried footman climbed down and opened the gilt-embellished door. From the shadowy interior a thin fellow stepped delicately, suggesting he believed the ground must be strewn with noxiousness.
Nose raised above whatever odour the street seemed to exude, the character drew himself up straight as a rail and tucked his hands in the sleeves of his robe.
Thereupon he peered directly at Tarannon, asking, "Is this the Rangers' headquarters?"
"Yes. It is."
"And you are?"
Feeling his blood beginning to simmer, the Ranger lifted his own nose a fraction. "Captain Tarannon of Henneth Annûn. Who might you be?"
After a clearly audible sniff, the thin man replied, "I am the right-hand of my lord Faramir, Prince of Ithilien and King's steward, his foremost chamberlain, Willelmus of Emyn Arnen."
Tarannon found himself briefly dazzled as to which designation in that string of titles the newcomer claimed, before the man whipped out a long arm in grand presentation.
"Within this conveyance is the Lord Justice, Valthaur. I am told your full hospitality awaits our convenience. It is my purpose here to ensure Lord Valthaur is catered for in the manner to which he is accustomed."
The last vestiges of his brief contentment crumbled within Tarannon more quickly than if the coach had been an earthquake. He cast a quick look behind him, expecting to see Khint appear. Soldiers he had expected, but how many officials did it take to organise one law lord? Then a massive figure loomed into the carriage doorway, and it seemed a small army might be needed to extract him. The Captain took a step back, instantly recognising authority in that corpulent face.
"Captain," the man wheezed. "I have been on the road too long and require the comfort of a room, good food, and wine, if I am to discharge my services to the King tomorrow."
Finally confronted with a clear superior, Tarannon ducked a terse bow and offered his hand to assist the law lord's alighting. "You are most welcome, sir. Please allow me to show you to your accommodations."
Directly his full attention was seized by the mechanics of helping Lord Valthaur regain his land-legs. This was liable to be a long week indeed.
xxx
TBC ...