Chapter Six
October 25 - Late Afternoon
Outside the Ranger Headquarters
A dark shawl draped over her red hair, Sira huddled in the doorway of the tanner's shop. Now and again she sneaked careful glances down the lane, but took pains to remain concealed in the growing shadows of late afternoon. The tanner, like so many others, had closed his business for the day and gone to watch the spectacle taking place within the Rangers' headquarters.
"How much longer can they be?" muttered the barmaid.
Twilight neared and if she did not return to The Whistling Dog in time to serve the evening trade, Cameroth's wrath would descend upon her head with full force. Most displeased with her for sneaking off last evening, the innkeeper swore that if she left him shorthanded again he'd send her back to Minas Tirith.
Almost, Sira wished the threat might be carried out. Cullen's strange warning left her apprehensive. The village, filled with those she would yesterday have categorised as too dull to be worth notice, now seemed a sinister place. To make matters worse, the hearing of the runty uruk from The Burping Troll served to attract a crowd of strangers who seemed determined to while away their free moments guzzling beer and slurping soup in the common room of The Whistling Dog. How would she know which of these might be one of Margul's spies, or even Margul himself in disguise?
At the sound of approaching voices, Sira tensed and hovered on the edge of flight. Eyes closed, and fists clenched to still the trembling of her hands, she steeled her resolve. She could not bear another day of jumping at every voice that called her name, or searching the faces of the men in the common room for silvery-green eyes. That afternoon in The Whistling Dog, an exchange with a shaggy-haired merchant left her heart racing at a desperate pace. While huddled in the back hall afterwards, she determined to seek help from someone. But the question of whom had not been easily decided.
The obvious solution of the Rangers of Henneth Annûn she rejected immediately. Her dismissal by the High Council of Gondor still rankled, based as it was on the assumption that the crimes of which she accused Margul were the product of the imagination of a scorned lover. Not willingly would she take her troubles to those who represented the law. Besides, Cullen warned about Margul's powerful friends. Might that not mean connections within the Rangers?
Her kinsman, Cameroth, and Jareth the barkeeper were discarded for similar reasons. They would dismiss her claims out of hand. As for her new beau, Sira feared to involve him; he would have no advice to offer, and might either attempt to confront Margul, thus getting himself killed, or maybe report it to his superiors, putting himself and her in even greater danger. Given Cullen's warning not to trust anyone from the village, and though the thought galled her greatly, she narrowed her choices down to the people from The Burping Troll or those travelling with Lord Darien of Silverbrook. They, at least, she knew not to be involved with Margul. But which of them would believe her?
She could not stomach the thought of speaking to the Ranger Captain, Halbarad, nor that strange man, Anardil. She remembered his grey eyes staring, unblinking, as he listened to her harrowing tale of escape from Margul's henchwoman, Minna. Furthermore, he had shown not a shred of emotion when they dragged her to identify that hideous girl's strangled body - which still made her shiver. The elf was out of the question, as were the orcs, of course.
For a moment, she considered Lord Darien's contingent. Except for the Haradrim, who treated her with an unnerving courtesy, and those uncouth men who had chosen The Black Cauldron's hospitality over The Whistling Dog's, the Silverbrook men were well mannered. Yet, she could not say she trusted them with her life.
And that was what she would be doing. Whomever she told would hold her life in their hands; for there was no doubt in Sira's heart that if Margul ever found out she spread the news of his arrival, he would hunt her down and kill her as he had that other wretched girl.
Turning the problem over-and-over, she arrived reluctantly at the conclusion the only person she could look to for help was Sevilodorf. Though there was no love lost between them, Sira had to admit that the Rohirrim woman's reputation as a fair and honest trader was deserved, and that she possessed very powerful friends, herself. If the woman could be convinced that Sira spoke the truth, and agreed to champion her cause, then the information would not be dismissed out of hand - but how to contact her?
Due to Cameroth's refusal to house orcs at The Whistling Dog, the folk of The Burping Troll were guests of Sevilodorf's Rohirrim connections. From information gathered during the day, Sira knew that a guard had been posted at the stable yard. Thus, entrance would be refused without more questions than she was prepared to answer.
After much thought, the only solution Sira came up with was to station herself along the route the party must take upon completion of the day's hearing. Perhaps there would be some opportunity to speak privately to the woman. Or at the very least pass her a message requesting a meeting.
Again approaching voices drove her deep into the shadows, but this time it seemed her wait would be rewarded. The towering form of the Beorning was unmistakable, as were the silver haired elf and tall Ranger, dwarfed by their companion's bulk. Hurrying along in the trio's wake strode an obviously agitated Lord Darien, and the dark forms of the Haradrim and two orcs engaged in a furious exchange. Behind them slouched two of Darien's men - Bevin and Carrick, she remembered them being called. Sira cast her eyes downward as the gleaming eyes of one of the misshapen creatures turned in her direction. The heavier tread of armoured soldiers passed by before she risked another glance.
Long moments passed while Sira identified various townspeople and some of those whom she had served meals at noon. But where was Sevilodorf? Had the woman and her one armed-companion taken another route? Sira stepped hesitantly from the security of the doorway in an effort to better see in the fading light.
"Why ever do you think they told such lies? And where did Osric and his two friends disappear to so fast?"
Sira's heart sank at the sound of the piping voice. The presence of the hobbit lass made it even less likely that she would find the Rohirrim woman alone. When the small group came near it seemed all her waiting had been for naught after all. Not only did the one-armed man and the hobbit accompany Sevilodorf, but also two young men of Lord Darien's party. Following them was the hulking form of the largest orc Sira had ever seen, who slouched along in muddy trousers with a shovel over his shoulder.
"Well," the hobbit's voice continued, "the best thing to do right now is to put it from our heads until after we've eaten a hot dinner. I have no idea how a man as round as Lord Valthaur manages to sustain himself for so many hours without a meal."
"All that bulk provides him with reserves to draw upon, Erin," Sev responded dryly. "But for once I agree with you. Nothing will be served by fury and argument. Indeed, our hope must be to convince Russbeorn of that."
"I get the feeling you are about to pass that task off on me again," Anardil said with a sigh.
Sira shrank into deeper shadows, scarcely daring to breathe as they passed. She even averted her eyes lest the one-armed man somehow sense her presence.
"Of course. You are the only one here with even a trace of diplomacy," the dark haired woman slowed her steps, "and you run faster than either of us."
The remark startled laughter from the two young men and set the hobbit to giggling, but Sira heard the man's rumbling protest that, even in anger, the Beorning would not strike a woman.
"Nevertheless, the others will need all the help they can get soothing Russ' temper. Listen, I'll keep the boys with me, and since Lugbac is finished privy-digging, I'll also take him in hand. Leave me at the apothecary, and you can go along to the stables to help Hal and Celebsul. I don't know what Master Banazîr wants; but if I don't go, that blasted apprentice will be at the stable yard within the hour."
The mention of the village apothecary set Sira's mind whirling. If she could reach the man's shop before Sevilodorf and her companions, she would be able to speak to the woman inside, out of sight of anyone save the elderly apothecary and his-slow speaking assistant. With the feeling that finally her luck had shifted, the barmaid pulled the shawl across her face. A quick glance to assure they had passed on, and she slipped around the building to ease into the alley paralleling the main road.
xxx
"Nmad overprotective man," Sev murmured when Anardil completed his list of instructions to Neal and Evan.
With effort she held her tongue as he concluded with a firm, "Most of all, do not under any circumstances let her convince you to go anywhere else."
Accepting the young men's assurances that they would not allow either the healer or the hobbit out of their sight, Anardil glanced at Lugbac, gave the orc a nod, and cast Sev a final admonishing look. Then he strode down the lane towards the stable yard.
"I think it's cute," Erin whispered, a wide grin rounding her cheeks into rosy apples.
"Do you? Then I'll have him start setting a guard on your every movement," Sev replied, then signalled the hobbit to wait a moment and turned to Lugbac. The huge orc's eyes were filled with confusion. "None of that now, Lugbac. I know Anardil said a lot but it's really very simple."
"It is?"
"Yes, he left you and Neal and Evan here to protect us."
Fifteen-year-old Evan grinned, while his brother Neal folded his arms across his chest, displaying the impressive set of muscles earned by his summer's work for their village blacksmith.
"To protect you?" the orc repeated, then drew himself up to his full height. "Aye, ah can do that. Nobody gets by Lugbac."
"Exactly. You sit right here on the doorstep and don't let anyone in. You don't touch them, just don't let them in."
"Without touching?" The orc frowned, looking at his huge, gristly fingers.
"No touching," Sev said firmly. "Gubbitch will be angry with both of us if you touch anyone, so don't get me in trouble."
At the mention of his chieftain, the orc quickly folded his hands together and squatted on the wooden step. "No touching, but nobody goes in."
"Good. Behave yourself and I'll bring you out some horehound drops. Master Banazîr always keeps a large supply." Giving a pat to the orc's granite shoulder and a nod to Erin to enter the apothecary's shop, Sev waved a hand at Neal and Evan. "Come along, gentlemen."
"If we're good, do we get horehound drops too?" asked Evan with a cheeky grin, and sprang to hold the door for Sev and his brother.
"I think that might be arranged," Sev responded, smiling. "I truly don't understand what trouble Anardil thinks I can possibly get into here."
Even as the words left her lips, it registered on Sev that they were not alone in the shop. The red haired beauty smiling coyly up at Banazîr's gawky, tongue-tied apprentice proved an only too familiar and unwelcome sight.
"Oh, Mistress Sevilodorf, how fortunate you happened by at this moment." The plump apothecary's face was wreathed in smiles as he eased himself from his stool.
"Do not trouble yourself, Master," Sev exclaimed hastily, knowing the difficulty the elderly man experienced, his arthritic joints audibly creaking each time he moved. "We will not take but a few moments of your time. Eberle," Sev indicated the distracted apprentice, "said that you wished to speak with me. However, if you are busy, it would be quite convenient for me to return in the morning."
"No, no," Banazîr exclaimed and held out a hand toward Sira. "The other business can indeed wait, but it is my belief that you might possess the best remedy for Miss Sira's problem."
When the girl allowed herself to be drawn shyly forward, it was all Sev could do to keep from saying she no longer dealt in that particular shade of hair colouring.
"Take off your gloves, my dear," urged the apothecary gently. "Mistress Sevilodorf is well versed in herbal remedies. You would do well to listen to any recommendations she makes for salves and soothing unguents."
The dismayed look Sira directed toward Neal and Evan made Sev instantly ashamed. From Anardil's accounts, the burns that the barmaid had suffered would have left considerable scarring. To a woman with Sira's vanity, such a condition would be almost worse than death.
Interrupting the older man's recitation of appropriate treatment for scarring, Sev said, "I promised these sturdy lads some horehound drops, and I know that Erin would love to take a peek at your selection of medicinal teas. Perhaps you might keep them entertained while I take Sira into your storeroom and examine her hands in privacy."
Neal's head went up like a hound catching scent of a wolf. But before the brawny, young blacksmith could voice his protest over the suggestion, Sev blew out an exasperated breath.
Hands on hips, she exclaimed, "For pity's sake, there are no doors or windows to the outside, and I'll leave the door open."
"Anardil made it very plain…" Neal's voice halted when the apothecary interrupted.
"Quite right, sir, quite right." Banazîr waved his cane toward door at the rear of the shop. "Her young man's left you to guard her, has he?"
Neal, temporarily bemused by the thought of anyone calling Anardil a young man and living to tell the tale, contented himself with nodding.
"You go right on back and have a look, if you've a mind to. A mite dusty perhaps, since my wife passed on no one's given it a real turn out; there's no other way in save past all of us."
"Thank you, sir. I'll take your word for it." Neal swept a bow to the old man then yelped as Sev elbowed him in the side.
"Believe him, but not me, will you? No horehound drops for this one, Banazîr, just the hobbit and Evan … oh, and six for the orc on the doorstep. Come, Sira, I haven't got all night."
"Yes, ma'am." Sira's meek tone earned her a suspicious look from Sevilodorf and a smile from the silent Eberle.
After lighting the lamp in the niche to the left of the door, Sev held out her hand. "Let me see, but don't take off the gloves, yet."
With a quick glance over the woman's shoulder, Sira complied. Gently turning the girl's hands, Sev asked, "Do you always wear the lace mitts?"
"Usually." Sira shrugged. "They hide the scars and keep the busybodies from asking too many questions."
"Did the Healers of Minas Tirith tell you to wear gloves once the scars matured?"
Sira nodded.
"Lace?"
"No, they said kidskin. But I didn't have the funds to buy more than one pair."
"They would get rather spoiled doing the work you do." Sev began to carefully tug off Sira's gloves.
"Nothing wrong with my job." Sira sucked in a breath as the mitts caught on an uneven patch of skin.
"No, 'tis honest work. Work you need your hands for, so it would be in your best interest to follow their suggestion. See the cracking?" Sev traced a finger lightly along the ridge of a scar. "Good gloves will prevent that - a size smaller than you're used to; keeps pressure on the skin and smoothes out the scars."
"I told you I don't have the funds."
Sira tried to jerk her hand away from the ticklish touch. However, Sev merely tightened her grip and continued her examination.
"Less expensive than losing the use of your hands. They might be cheaper in the City. I'll have Alfgard order several pair. You can discuss payment with him, but they will be here in a week. Whether you choose to wear them or not is up to you." Sev released the girl's hands and met her eyes. "Meanwhile, heated lotions and massage: they soften the skin and help the scar tissue stretch."
"Why would you do this for me?" Sira squinted, unable to understand such kindness, particularly from a woman with whom she had often been at overt odds.
"It is what I am trained to do. The one thing I am useful for." Sev lifted her chin and levelled a stern look. "Now, if that is all, I would like to see what the Master wishes to speak to me about and return to the stable yard. It's been a long day, and tomorrow bodes to be no better."
"Wait, I've something I must tell you."
Now that the moment to speak had arrived, Sira found she did not know what words to use that would convince the woman before her. In a rush, she spilt the little she knew.
"Margul is here. I saw him in the woods on the edge of town."
"Margul?"
Sira's eyes were huge in the dim light. "The one who strangled that girl in Minas Tirith. Who spied on you with Cullen."
"Why would he be here?"
"Whatever the reason you can be sure it's not good for any of us. He doesn't like loose ends lying about." Sira clutched her shawl about her like a woollen shield. "But everyone thinks I'm trying to get even with him, that it's all just spite. But it's not. I know what I know; he's skulking around in disguise for so no one will recognise him while he gets the job finished."
"What job?"
"Me. Cullen. For all I know, you. He was watching you for some reason last spring. And he's not one to give up easy." Sira leant forwarded and pleaded in a breathless torrent, "If you tell them, they'll listen. I can't take it, not knowing if he's coming for me. Promise me, you'll tell them. Make them go look. But he's a sneaky one and evil, so tell them to be careful … and only tell those you know you can trust. Cullen said no one could be trusted. He said Margul has powerful friends in this village."
Seeing the wide-eyed look on Sevilodorf's face, Sira heard her own words echoing shrilly in her ears. How loud had her voice raised with increasing desperation? Who else may have overheard? Mouthing a silent 'please' to the healer woman, Sira yanked her shawl over her hair and fled towards the street. She almost fell headlong as she tripped over the leg of the orc in the doorway.
Instantly Lugbac caught the girl's arm with one hand and set her back upright. Then he stared in horror at his own action and let go of Sira as if she were a burning log.
"Sorry, missus, didn't mean to touch yer."
The redhead glanced back for an instant then ran swiftly down the road.
Trembles shook the big orc's body when Sev, Erin and the young men emerged from the shop. "Ah didn't mean to touch 'er. She tripped. Stopped 'er fallin' is all."
Sev rested a hand on the orc's arm. "It's all right, Lugbac. You did well. Here's your reward."
A grin capable of slicing steel appeared on the orc's face. He grabbed the bag that Sev held out, thrust in his fingers, pulled out a horehound drop, which he then threw into his mouth and chomped into fragments.
Neal watched in awe. "You're supposed to suck them."
"Why?" Lugbac asked, a second of the sweetened lozenges following the path of the first.
"To soothe your throat and prevent coughs."
"Yup." Lugbac grinned, brown syrup sticking to his teeth. "An' they work." He took a deep breath and exhaled a powerful spicy aroma. "See, no cough."
The youngsters laughed and began cheerfully goading Lugbac to eat another one, this time tossing it higher before catching it. Yet Sev watched with only part of her attention, the rest of her mind absorbed with Sira's troubling news. Whoever Margul was, he remained a faceless shadow on her horizons. However, there were currents she could not plumb on her own, in the depths of Sira's fear. And she had seen true terror in the barmaid's eyes.
"Come gentlemen," said Sev, as Lugbac crunched another horehound drop to powder. "The hour is late and I'm ready for my supper."
xxx
Alfgard's HouseholdBear minding, Anardil concluded, was not an activity that suited his disposition. No matter what Sev believed, the honeyed words of reason pouring from the mouth of Celebsul were far beyond his capabilities, or his patience. Leave to him the shadows and the less diplomatic paths for extracting information and solutions to the problems of the kingdom. He felt as trapped within the confines of this polished sitting room as Russ appeared to be. The giant's forehead wept tears of sweat, and his beard revealed flashes of angry white teeth while he expressed his disgust at the day's events.
"Lies and deceit, deceit and lies!" the big man boomed. "Courts and laws and judges - bah! Their decrees will not take an innocent life. No matter what these men of law decide, I shall keep Nik safe."
Celebsul replied quickly that others would testify Nik's innocence, to which Russ stormed on regardless, "If all Gondor rises up to swear his guilt - I will not deliver him to false justice. The wilderness is wide, and I know the ways of it."
The elf's next response came too softly for Anardil to hear from his post near the door. The only apparent result was a moderation of tone, but not temper.
"Whatever happens," rumbled Russ, "this is my decree: from the moment we leave this place, you and you -." He jabbed a thick finger at Darien, then Horus, then towards Carrick's and Bevin's startled faces. "And you and you will never cross my path again. If you do, you shall face my justice, and it shall be swift. Thus for all your men. So I winnow the chaff from the wheat."
In the jangling silence that followed, Carrick and Bevin stared with almost wounded expressions, while Darien's features went stiff and pale, a muscle in his cheek tightening in some complex mix of emotions. Horus merely looked gravely sad. Celebsul briefly pinched his nose in a gesture oddly human for an elf, and then resumed speaking in quiet earnestness.
Meanwhile, Darien pivoted to face Carrick and Bevin sternly. In a tight voice he said, "Find Osric and those two idiots, I don't care what tavern or wench's bed they're in, and bring them back here - now."
The two men sped hastily away, leaving Darien to Horus' guardianship once more. Anardil tried to follow the separate conversations, but other thoughts distracted him, and his mind was more than half occupied with the question of how much longer Sev would be. He kept one eye upon the opening into the hall and the other on Russ.
After a few more minutes, the combination of Elvish counsel and the steady repetition of common sense by both Halbarad and Alfgard of Rohan finally appeared to be having a calming effect on the wild-haired Beorning. Either that or he was temporarily content with having startled Darien and his men half out of their wits. It was to be hoped that whatever wisdom Horus spoke would soon work similar magic upon the aggrieved Silverbrook Lord.
Oil upon boiling water, Anardil reflected glumly, while the important questions remained unasked. Why had those men changed their story? Or rather, who had helped them rephrase their narratives? Nothing said today was strictly a lie, but the hidden meanings within their choice of words led those who heard to believe only the worst. The convenient gaps of memory left spaces for listeners to fill, none to Nik's benefit. Furthermore, to whom but the most sheltered soul would not Nik's twisted features supply an all too common nightmare, the memories of war just past. In Anardil's view, the language was too carefully chosen, the moments of forgetfulness too obvious. Granted he had a suspicious nature, but no one he could discover would accredit Osric with the abilities of a great manipulator.
Stilling fingers that tapped out an impatient rhythm on the arm of his chair, he watched blank faced as Darien's composure slipped once more. Features taut with anger, the nobleman jabbed the rigid index finger of one hand into the palm of the other, again driving futile anger against each dismaying point. Hopefully, once tempers were soothed and the initial frustrations washed away, there would be time to plan their counterattack for the morrow and to delve into speculation as to who had thus far piped the tune to which they danced. A tune they must alter if they were to emerge from this contest with Nik's life.
Catching Halbarad's eye, Anardil nodded toward the entryway. More than enough time had passed for Sev to discuss whatever request the village herbalist wished to make. One thing this company did not need, was for Sevilodorf of Rohan to discover additional trouble. Never should he have allowed himself to be persuaded to leave her in the care of two callow youths, a thick-witted orc and a hobbit lass who stood only waist high to most men.
Halbarad rolled his eyes toward the hearth where Celebsul and Alfgard had joined forces with Horus and appeared to be somehow managing to persuade both Darien and the Beorning to finally sit and merge their frustrations. As Russ' large frame bent onto a bench, the Ranger Captain flicked his fingers to release his friend from his post.
But a short reprieve it proved to be, for at that moment, the wide main doors burst open. Anardil stood as they admitted the laughing figure of the curly haired hobbit lass and the brawny young smith.
"Have a horehound drop, Anardil." Erin held out a small bag with a giggle that set Neal to smirking with secret laughter. "They're good for everything that ails you."
"Everything?" Anardil questioned.
"If there's anything they're not good for I can't think what it might be," Neal responded. "Master Banazîr named every ailment I've ever heard of, and several I never knew existed."
Erin drew herself up and intoned in a voice amazingly like that of the aging apothecary, "Syrup made of the green fresh leaves and sugar is a most singular remedy against coughs and wheezing of the lungs. A wonderful poultice in the event of snakebite is produced from a combining of the broad leaves of plantain and those of wild horehound."
As the little hobbit dissolved into a spasm of giggles, Anardil smothered a grin. From his months of recuperation, he was all too familiar with the abilities of the Healers of Gondor to engage in long-winded recitations upon the curative properties of a never-ending variety of plant life.
"I am quite certain that Sev matched the good master, verse for verse."
"That she did, sir," snorted Neal. In a falsetto that bore no resemblance in the slightest to Sev's rolling tones, the young man said, "Are you aware, Master, that if infused in new milk it serves as a treatment for cankerworm?"
"Cankerworm?"
"An insidious pest that destroys apple orchards," Sev answered, appearing in the doorway with a smiling Evan. "And 'tis jealousy that causes these two to laugh, for they alone possessed no knowledge to add to the store."
Darien looked up from rubbing his face with both hands, and mustered a weary smile for his young comrades. "Ah, then our Evan had his mite to add as well?"
"Aye, the lad delighted the master with a new recipe for an ointment concocted of horehound and lard," Sev explained. "A fine treatment for wounds, he says."
Evan nodded eagerly, "You remember, sir, that slash Bevin received last fall? Neal and I treated it with a poultice of ground horehound. Grows wild most places, so it's handy to find."
"Ah, yes, I remember that." Darien sat up, visibly trying to rearrange himself into a better humour. "And what have you there, Mistress Erin?"
"Oh, it's a lovely tea Master Banazîr concocted," Erin said, hastening forward with a small box in her hands. "Raspberry, rosehips, lemon grass and a few other things - it will make a splendid winter tonic, plus it tastes good. And it smells nice!"
Horus started, then smiled and bent down as the hobbit thrust the now-open box towards him.
"I think I should make some for all of us," Erin continued, next offering the box to Darien. "The aroma is refreshing, and I believe it would clear our heads. Plus -."
While the hobbit chattered on, Sev moved to shut the heavy wooden doors. There she tipped her head up to frown at Anardil.
"You weren't by any chance on your way to look for me, were you?"
"Of course not," Anardil denied. "Simply seeking a moment of escape from my duties as bear minder and lord pacifier."
"If I didn't know what an accomplished liar you are, I'd believe that." Unfastening the collar of her high-necked tunic, Sev exclaimed, "What I want to escape is all this finery. Come upstairs with me while I change."
"Gladly, my lady." A peal of laughter followed them up the stairs, muffling the thump of their tread. "Only moments ago, I would have sworn the room would burst into flames from the heated tempers, and the lass has them laughing already."
"'Twas you that said little dampens the spirits of a hobbit."
"Aye, and her ability to spread her lightness of spirit will be of great use tonight."
Sev sighed and her jaw tightened. "A simple matter. Is that not what Hal said? What has gone so wrong? Darien was fit to be tied by the lies, and Russ..." She shuddered.
"Were any lies truly told?"
"Of course, they lied," Sev froze with her hand on the latch to her room and stared up into his face. "Surely, you don't believe what those fools said. I've told you what happened in that cave. Nik did what he did to protect me."
Reaching around her, Anardil turned the handle and signalled her to enter. With a stubborn tilt of her chin, Sev complied.
She waited until he closed the door before asking, "Whose word do you believe?"
Anardil leaned against the door and replied, "Both." Before Sev could protest, he added, "And neither."
Clamping her mouth closed, Sev glared at him narrow eyed. With a muttered comment he was grateful not to hear clearly, she turned away and began working at the fastenings of her formal tunic. Once removed, she draped it across the back of a chair and selected a looser fitting garment from her pack to don. Steadfastly ignoring Anardil, she settled onto the bed and tugged off her half boots.
Experience had taught him that allowing her to work a problem through on her own would shorten the arguments. Thus, Anardil remained silent, his eyes wandering about the vaguely familiar room. Letting that awareness distract him, he realised someone had scattered miscellaneous bits and pieces about the place, to make it feel homely. Items included Sev's favourite mug, a small throw rug, an elvish embroidered cushion, a colourful hobbit-sized shawl, and on the windowsill several small, hand-carved figurines. Knowing Sev would never burden herself with such frippery, Anardil had to smile. That certainly explained Erin's huge pack; the hobbit lass had brought home with her.
His musings were interrupted by an exasperated exhale. "If I understand your point, what was spoken today was the truth. Only the truth told in such a way that many people would react unfavourably to the tale."
Anardil nodded and raised an eyebrow to encourage her to follow this idea to its logical conclusion.
"Devious man, forcing me to think on an empty stomach," Sev said. "Very well, it's as you are constantly telling me; words can be used as weapons, but…" She reached beneath the bed and drew forth a pair of simple slippers. "Who chose this arsenal? It seems too contrived for Osric. He never impressed…."
Sev stilled, statue-like, holding one shoe. "You think there's someone telling them what to say. Someone who wants this hearing to lead to a trial."
"Yes, love, I do."
"You've not told them this downstairs?"
"Not yet. I was waiting for emotions to stop interfering with thinking. Perhaps with Erin's help, and after a good dinner, we will be able to examine the situation more calmly."
Sev nodded at the sense behind such reasoning and slipped on her second shoe. "Then the conversation I just had with Sira is perhaps not as strange as I first thought."
"Sira? You swore you would not go anywhere but Master Banazîr's shop."
"Don't start hurling accusations at me. I didn't go to her. She came to me."
"I can't think of a single good reason Sira would have to search you out."
"Then think harder for she had two. One, her scars are not healing as they should."
Anardil winced. "I saw her hands when the burns were fresh. And the second reason?"
"She saw Margul last night."
"Last night?" Fingers briefly to his brow, Anardil muttered a curse at his own stupidity. He had seen the girl running into The Whistling Dog and assumed she was late returning from a meeting with her newest swain. "Why didn't she go to the Rangers? Or the Guards?"
"What? So they could laugh in her face and make rude comments about how the man abandoned her? No, Sira would not go to the Rangers."
"True enough." Anardil drew a quick breath, stepping into the familiar, detached role of an observer. "Tell me what she said."
With her usual pragmatism, Sev outlined the facts of Sira's report and state of mind in a swift economy of words. Given the implications behind this sighting of a man who was entirely too shadowed in mystery, Anardil found himself grateful for Sev's calm manner.
"We'll pass the word to Tarannon," he said. "Whether he believes Sira or not, he will at least look into it; Margul is, after all, a suspect in the murder of that woman in Minas Tirith. Meanwhile, we'll need to check the possibility it is Margul piping the tune to which Osric and his friends perform."
"Aye, but first some food. Erin would never forgive us if we tried to plan things on an empty stomach, and I really do not fancy arguing with a hungry bear."
"Mm, but first let me fortify myself on something a little more substantial."
"Anardil!"
Sev had no chance to fend off the grinning man before he wrapped her in his embrace and bent to apply a very thorough kiss. When done, he withdrew only enough to kiss her brow then leaned his forehead to hers.
"And what was that about?" asked Sev, still trying to regain her breath.
"Nothing," Anardil murmured into her hair. "Only that I'm glad to have such a practical woman at my side."
"Loof!" she snorted, and smacked his flat belly with the back of her hand, breaking their embrace.
But he merely laughed, and still chuckling they turned together and left the room.
xxx
During preparations for dinner, Russ roamed restlessly outside, his pipe clamped between his teeth and rapid puffs of smoke pulsing irately into the air. He still simmered as he had since the end of testimony, though the presence of Nik curbed the worst of the giant's fury. Some distance away, Darien and Horus leant against a wall, watching warily. A little further on, Neal and Evan squatted on their heels, whispering together, while Carrick and Bevin were conspicuous by their absences. Fresh air had seemed a good idea, but away from the hobbit's cheerful influence, tempers began fraying again.
When Russ' wandering brought him close to the men, his scowl spoke of murderous thoughts, but Nik surprised everyone - the little uruk stepped out of the shadows to wedge himself between Darien and Horus.
"Your men still hate me." Nik looked up sadly to the Lord of Silverbrook.
Sliding down the wall into a crouch, the tall man brought himself to a level where the orc could meet his eye without straining. "No, they don't, Nik. Not all of them. Probably the only one who harbours real animosity is Osric. Ham and Tom just go along with him because they know no better. Something must have happened while we've been here in the village. There was no indication that they would twist the truth at any point on our journey here. We'll find out what that is when Carrick and Bevin round them up."
Pulling the pipe from his mouth, Russ paused and glared down at Darien, "And if they don't find them?"
"They will. I still carry a quarter's worth of wages for those liars. They won't vanish without collecting their money."
"Unless they have already earnt enough to not miss what they are owed," Horus said quietly.
All eyes turned to the Haradrim, who shrugged. "Just speculation, as is everything until we can ask them."
Russ took a long draw on his pipe and blew out a stream of smoke. Then he growled, "What if they are not found before the hearing reconvenes? What then? You think I will trust Nik's fate to people who believe only what they wish to believe?"
Still crouching, Darien replied, "Horus is yet to testify, as is Sevilodorf. They will tell the truth clearly. And Evan." The man turned his attention to Nik. "You know he has come to accept you and will also speak truly. On my word, Bevin will bear no false witness."
"Your word means nothing to me," Russ retorted. "It is as trustworthy as your men."
Darien flinched, and stood swiftly. But he was unable to muster an argument against that. No one noticed the elf until he spoke from the shadows.
"Enemies win when allies fight amongst themselves. Let us stand side-by-side on this."
Russ wheeled then halted, eyes dark and brooding. "Do you still trust this Valthaur at his winnowing?"
However, Celebsul merely spread his hands before him. "Please, Russbeorn. Cool your emotions at least until after dinner, and grant our host a peaceful meal."
"Oh yes," Nik nervously concurred with the elf. "I'm more hungry now than sad or afraid. And food does not settle well on an angry stomach, Teach."
Despite himself, Russ could not stop a grunt of amusement at his small friend's hopeful smile - the student lecturing his tutor. From beneath heavy brows he then studied the ancient elf, doubtless turning further dour thoughts in his mind. Abruptly he grunted again.
"Very well, we shall eat." A large thumb extinguished the glow in the pipe's bowl. "And I will respect the courtesy of Alfgard's table."
That said, the Silverbrook men stood well aside when Russ and Nik sauntered indoors.
xxx
TBC ...