Chapter Sixteen
"Sira, I have been thinking, and there is something I must tell - No, no, that won't do. Sira, if you will walk with me, we must talk about - argh, that's even worse."
Footsteps crunched in a muddy lane, as a hooded figure made its way towards the village's eastern edge. Solitary though he was, the man wrapped inside that cloak earnestly conversed with the thoughts swirling in his head.
"Sira, lately I have been thinking that - Oh, bother!" The face within revealed itself as that of a pleasant-looking young man, though presently visibly vexed with himself. He sighed, and muttered, "Why must it be so difficult?"
His long-legged stride slowed to an ambling pace as he crunched further along, head bent against the pattering rain. "Sira, would you consider - Confound it, Ted, you're acting like a foolish boy. Just come right out and say what you mean."
What Ted meant and what he could say, however, remained a conundrum that he wrestled while he strolled past shuttered shops and houses. Huddled within the heavy wool of his cloak, he muttered half-sentences and sighed and groaned, until the veriest fool would have known that here walked a man in the agonies of love.
Not that Ted was a callow boy, nor was Sira a pure, chaste maiden. But to him she revealed a sweet, girlish side that few ever saw, and the gossip of the town made no difference to him. He cared for her and she lent him her truest smiles, even though he had nothing to offer but the kindness of his heart.
That heart continued to vex him until he looked up and realised he had passed beyond the last buildings and the bridge stood yonder as a grey, hunched shape in the rain. He frowned when he saw no sign of Sira. A few squelching paces later and he could hear the thumping of the blacksmith's bellows and the muffled, intermittent clang of his hammer.
Upon reaching the bridge, Ted paused and looked around. He turned and glanced back the way he had come, just in case he had arrived before her. However, he saw no feminine form hurrying up the lane, only an empty track beginning to dribble puddles of water. Ted sighed deeply. He stood there several minutes, torn between hope and disappointment, before shaking his head.
"Idiot," he said. "She's probably waiting in the smithy - out of the rain, unlike your fool self."
The blacksmith shop had gone silent, now, but he could just see a glimmer of lantern light past the shutters. With a final glance towards the village proper, Ted trudged on over the bridge to the forge. There he rapped on the door and waited for the burly smith to answer amidst a cloud of metallic odours.
No, Sira had not taken shelter here. With rueful thanks, Ted turned away.
"Ted!" The blacksmith's gravely voice turned him round again. "Sira's not here, but this stuff you're supposed to collect is." A muscular arm pointed to a sack just inside the door.
"Oh." His reason for being out of the garrison during working hours had completely slipped Ted's mind. Distractedly, he glanced over to the bridge and asked, "Can I fetch it a bit later?"
A twinkle lit the smith's eyes, and he huffed in indulgent humour. "Aye, Ted. But don't be long or I'll be having to file the rust off you. Weather's not fit for man nor beast."
Stepping once more into the cold, insistent rain, Ted felt more than a little embarrassed.
"Fool," he muttered as he plodded back towards the bridge. "She's probably safe home and dry. You're the only one moon-struck enough to …"
He let the thought trail off and glanced up at the dark, dripping shapes of the trees that lined the road. Back across the bridge he walked, his pace quickening as the rain spattered harder.
It was only by merest chance that he looked down to see a curious shape in the mud. Ted halted and bent to peer closer, then picked it up. In his fingers he held a very small, very nice lady's glove.
"Blast," he sighed. "She said she was getting gloves for her poor hands - she was here and I missed her."
Tucking the wet glove into a pocket, he lengthened his stride towards the village and The Whistling Dog.
"I'm very sorry, Sira," he mumbled as he walked. "I lost track of time and - no, no, that sounds silly. Sira, forgive me, I -."
xxx
Somewhere in the forests of IthilienTwilight crept upon the Ephel Dúath, as rain whispered through dark branches and dripped from the fingers of tall, gloomy firs. Though the heavy stand of trees offered cover from the rain and shielded a hidden campfire, that shelter was no place of comfort.
The mewling whimpering sounds finally stopped. Whether because the girl had slipped once again into unconsciousness, or succumbed to the blows their captor took much delight in meting out, Sev had no way of knowing. As a further modicum of cruelty, the silver-eyed demon had ordered the healer bound in such a fashion that she could clearly hear Sira's torment, but all she could see were tumbled boulders, brooding trees and Raberlon's discarded body. Evening came early beneath the trees, but as much as she dreaded the fall of night, she found herself wishing to hasten its shadows, that they might obscure that good man's dishonour from her view.
If the old Rohirrim's mangled remains were to have provided a constant reminder of the fate which lay in store for the captives, that purpose had been served. If, however, the intent had been to reduce her to a quivering mass of cowardice, the scum leading this horde of evil had miscalculated. Raised in a culture which demanded women to stand dry-eyed before the barrows of their sons and husbands, the certainty of her death served Sev as the armour needed to listen to Sira's cries without displaying the fear the man so obviously wished to elicit.
Clenching and unclenching her fists in an attempt to maintain some circulation in chilled fingers, Sev considered what course she should take to make their deaths most meaningful; and if possible, less painful. The power Margul exercised over his five orc minions made it unlikely they would disobey his orders to ensure the captives remained alive. Thus two options remained: either she and Sira must become more valuable alive and untouched, than dead; or she must find a way to cause the monster to lose his temper and kill them cleanly. The latter, though infinitely preferable to being brutalised by the orcs, would be more difficult to achieve. The fury of the man simmered beneath the surface, but his love of cruelty appeared, for the moment, to be a sufficient bridle.
Thus she would focus on finding a way to turn his attention from Sira. From the questions he had asked the maid, questions for which the girl had no answers, Margul's primary objective was the return of his property, or so he named the orc whom Russ and Anardil had captured threatening Cullen. His second goal, one not so blatantly stated but easily inferred, was to locate Cullen and exact a revenge for past injuries. If Sev provided a possibility for the achievement of those goals, perhaps the man would leave Sira in momentary peace.
Beyond the hunched shape of a boulder, firelight cast spastic, flinching shadows among the trees. Somewhere beyond her view, Sev heard Margul exhale in disgust.
"Pathetic wench," he spat. "Give her a moment to wake up again."
Swallowing, Sev stated in a clear voice, "She doesn't know anything about them."
The man stepped into her line of sight, his face halved by ruddy firelight and the deep blues of dusk. "You are ready then to discuss business."
The flat statement, coupled with an unmistakable air of triumph, caused Sev's heart to plunge. The chill of a rainy evening suddenly gripped her to the bone. Had she placed herself squarely in some devious trap? Was there any way to turn his excess confidence against him? To ponder her own death alone suddenly seemed a far different thing than when the architect of her demise stared down at her with shimmering eyes. Nonetheless, Sev steeled herself to turn the silent yammering of terror into a fierce snarl of loathing.
She jerked at the ropes binding her. "If you conduct all your business in such a fashion, 'tis no wonder you are not more successful."
An infinitesimal narrowing of his eyes let her know she had pricked his pride.
"That would depend upon your definition of success, would it not?" He smiled lazily. "There are many who find this method of business most…entertaining."
Sev forced herself to shrug. "I have found mixing business with pleasure usually results in lowered profits."
Margul laughed, but without humour. "You are indeed a treasure, my dear. Not a beauty, like our dear Sira, but a jewel nonetheless."
"I'm afraid I place little value in such flattery, sir. Especially given my circumstances."
"Circumstances have a way of changing." Margul stepped towards her and sank to a crouch at her side. His nearness crowded her disturbingly and his strange eyes glimmered in the gloom. "Perhaps we might come to a mutually profitable agreement."
Desperately willing her voice to not betray the frantic pace of her heart, Sev replied dryly, "What could I possibly have of value to a sterling businessman like yourself?"
"Information. I find it necessary to leave this area rather sooner than I planned, and I do so hate to leave unfinished business behind."
"As you did before?"
His sudden blow snapped her head against the tree at her back. The copper taste of blood filled her mouth as her teeth cut into her tongue.
While her wits reeled, he shifted so the firelight fell more fully upon his face, and his rebuke came in clipped tones. "As refreshing as I find this conversation, insolence will not be tolerated. You said Sira doesn't know anything about them, therefore you do. Tell me."
Sev lifted her chin and glimpsed the man's ghostly eyes. "Why should I?"
Margul leaned closer and ran a finger along her jaw, chills of revulsion following his touch, and then he pointed toward Raberlon's body. "Because, madam, there are many ways to die."
"Aye," Sev answered in a shaky whisper, then forced herself to meet his gaze directly. "But what assurance do I have that you would keep your side of any bargain?"
Satisfaction lent an unearthly beauty to the man. "My word as a businessman, my dear."
Somehow Sev managed to bite her lip before a bitter laugh could escape. Did she appear that naïve? Perhaps she would have made a good spy. A pity she would have no further opportunities to practice. Ruthlessly, she set aside the thought, for fear would prove her undoing. She could not afford the distraction of regret. Having seen the remains of those captured and made playthings by orcs like those following Margul, she had no intention of ending her life in such a fashion.
"I suppose that's the best guarantee I'll get in this situation," Sev finally said.
"The only one you'll need, my dear. You will find I am a man of my word, even when others break their vows to me."
A sneer twisted his face, and Sev wondered who had been foolish enough to renege on a promise made to this man.
"Your orc is being kept in the icehouse at the stable yard."
Margul nodded. "And my other servant?"
Sev feigned puzzlement and let a hint of her fear tighten her voice. "There's someone else? No one was brought in. I've told you what I know. Isn't it enough?"
In a voice cold as death, the man stated, "You said 'them'."
"The Rangers!" Her mind raced around the torturous curves of duplicity. "The Rangers who captured your orc."
Seizing her hair and twisting her head to face him, Margul studied her. "I might believe you, if I did not know of the deception you so recently practiced. Clever of you to use the apothecary to lend countenance to your little farce."
"There was no farce," she responded through gritted teeth as he clenched his fist in her hair.
"You expect me to believe the Swerting was ill?" He snorted in rich disdain, and with a shove released his grip. "I have been closer than you know. Banazîr's records show the remedies requested by you. Some are rather strange choices for the treatment of bolgur. I hope the old man is sturdier than he appears. The penalty for giving false testimony before a court of Gondor is severe."
"No one lied. I told no lies," Sev hissed. "And Banazîr only reported on what he saw and speculated as to the cause of the Southron's illness."
At the sincerity in the Rohirrim woman's voice, Margul drew back. His eyes narrowed in thought, and then he smiled and chuckled. Patting her lightly on the jaw, he said, "Marvellous, my dear. You actually made the man ill, so you would not have to lie. I believe I will have to keep you with me for a while. It will be invigorating to speak with someone possessing a truly devious mind. Orcs, as I'm sure you know, have little to recommend them when it comes to scintillating conversation."
An image of Gubbitch and Celebsul, debating stratagems for board games that left Sev utterly confused, popped into her head. Although, having some sense, she did not relate the memory to the man now regarding her with something akin to amused approval.
Margul's features rearranged into an expression of innocence, and he returned to his earlier question. "Then you know nothing about my good man, Cullen? I owe him some back wages and wish to pay him. "
"I've been in the sickroom for the past few days." Sev let a scowl of impatience distort her face. "Maybe the orc locked up in the icehouse knows where Cullen has disappeared. Or the Rangers. They certainly don't tell me everything they do."
The aggrieved tone, signifying that if the Rangers had bothered to consult her things might have gone a great deal differently, struck the right chord with Margul. He nodded, stood up and stepped away.
"Very well, my dear. I will believe you, though be aware I have an exceptionally low tolerance for those who lie."
The shudder Sev could not entirely suppress at the thought of what the man would do if he should catch her in a lie did not escape Margul's notice.
xxx
Fire blazed in the large hearth at The Whistling Dog. Less crowded than usual, the main room housed only those who were staying at the inn, plus a few hardy villagers to whom the heavy rain proved no deterrent; such folk were ardent lovers of beer, or dedicated escapees from the burdensome bosoms of their families. Steam and the odour of wet wool rose from the discarded cloaks and soaked trouser legs of men sitting near the fireplace.
Anardil and Halbarad, however, despite being more than a little damp, occupied chairs in a cooler corner where the Silverbrook men had settled themselves to enjoy their supper. Recently returned from the stables, Neal and Evan grinned through a cheerful ribbing by Carrick and Bevin for leaving the older men to do the 'babysitting'. Anardil was glad to see Ham and Tom at least joined in the mirth. Osric clearly never would discover a sense of humour, or for that matter, any other quality of merit.
Having established that Lord Darien's more trustworthy fellows still maintained some degree of control over their errant comrades, Anardil felt more than ready to go back to the stables for his own supper. Captain Halbarad, on the other hand, remained locked in a pointless debate with the mule-headed Osric. None but Anardil noticed the landlord's son burst from the kitchen's back corridor and run up to the bar, his clothes dripping wet, while an equally soggy man followed quickly behind. The exchange between Jasimir and his father was almost inaudible from where Anardil sat, but he heard the names 'Sira' and 'Sevilodorf' clearly enough.
"Hal." The ex-Ranger shook his comrade's shoulder. "Something's happened. Come on."
Without waiting for a reply, Anardil grabbed his cloak and swiftly crossed the room. He reached the trio at the bar with Halbarad just a step behind.
"Ah, I was just going to call you over," Cameroth said in relief when he saw them. "I sent Jasimir out to look for Sira. She was supposed to meet Ted," he nodded to the stranger, "at the smithy. But she's late coming back and Ted says she wasn't there. He was on his way here when he met Jas."
The white-faced man, introduced as Ted, held out a shaking hand to reveal a small kid glove. His youthful, earnest features registered deep distress while he spoke.
"She must have been there before me. I found this on the ground. If she's not here, where could she be?"
Anardil's hackles, which were rising by the second, bristled like boar hairs when Jasimir added, "She was also going to meet Mistress Sevilodorf there, to try on the gloves …"
For a moment, time froze. Anardil looked towards the window where rain spattered and spilt in rivulets, and his memory hurtled back to a late afternoon in January when the rain fell as heavily as now, and the terrible events that started this entire situation had befallen Sev.
Pushing the haunting recollection aside, Anardil knew he must act swiftly. "Jasimir, can you take us to where Sira was to meet Sev?"
The boy exchanged a glance with his father who nodded assent, and then Anardil, Captain Halbarad and Ted followed Jasimir out into the rain.
xxx
The elf's keen eyes could see through shadows and showers - only solid obstacles and the horizon limited his view. Leaning out of the open door of Alfgard's home, Celebsul scanned the rain-spattered path with increasing concern. Sev should have been back by now.
Behind him, in the body of the house, conversation and laughter continued. There was no one amongst the group whom he wished to visit his disquiet upon. Both Erin and Alfgard knew that Sev had gone to talk to Sira, but neither seemed troubled by the extended absence. Being a stubborn and independent woman, Sev most often trod her own path and set her own timescales. Perhaps she had called in on the apothecary or her friends at The Whistling Dog.
Perhaps.
xxx
When they arrived at the bridge, all four were breathless, even young Jasimir who had led the race through the village. The forge now stood silent, and the only sounds were of men catching their breath, and water. Everywhere, water. The swollen stream rushed noisily over rocks. Miniature rivers ran in the edges of the road while muddy pools shimmered all about them. Into those pools fell sullen plunks of raindrops from both sky and trees. Though here in the open some daylight remained, a sense of urgency gripped them, for the leaden greyness of the clouds would bring an early nightfall.
"Here. Here's where I found the glove." Ted crouched and gestured.
"You and Jasimir stand back now, Ted," Captain Halbarad instructed. "If there are any clues remaining in this morass as to where Sira and Sev might have gone, Anardil and I will find them."
Ranger and ex-Ranger began a painstaking inspection of the area, eyes scanning every inch, and fingers sifting through mud and water. Their search gradually widened and left the road. Neither Ted nor Jasimir, following behind, could fathom what signs guided the two men who moved in unison, touching the branches of shrubs and peering into tussocks of grass.
When nothing of significance seemed to emerge, Jasimir suggested hopefully, "Perhaps the ladies went to Alfgard's to be out of the rain."
Halbarad began to answer him, "Aye, that's possible …"
"No!"
Anardil's hissed exclamation almost vanished under the sibilant noise of the stream. He fell to his knees in the mire and lifted something from the ground. It flashed in his hand before he quickly shielded the object beneath his cloak.
"What?" Halbarad gave voice to the question frozen on Ted's and Jasimir's tongues.
Without looking up, Anardil replied, "One of Sev's knives."
"Might she have dropped it?" Ted asked, for want of anything better to say.
Now Anardil turned his head, but his gaze sought out Halbarad. "There is still a trace of blood."
Ted did not want this to be happening. "Might she have accidentally cut herself, then dropped it?"
"The blood is black."
Into the ensuing silence, stepped a silver-haired elf, his eyes scanning the grim expressions surrounding him. Without a word, he went to crouch by Anardil and examined the knife. Only then did he speak.
"She didn't return. I came looking for her."
Anardil's face twisted for a moment while he struggled against pain, fear and anger. "Who was guarding her, Celebsul?"
"Raberlon and Lugbac."
Anardil rose in a swift motion to glare down at the elf. "An old man and an orc!"
"They were who she chose, Anardil." Celebsul stood up then started his own inspection of the area.
Halbarad resumed his slow, searching pace. "Could the blood be Lugbac's? He's clumsy enough to manage to get skewered by mistake."
Receiving no answer, the Ranger Captain wondered if Ted's misguided optimism might be contagious.
"Sorry, a stupid question," he admitted. "It is clear that a skirmish of some sort took place here. There are imprints of at least half-a-dozen different sized boots, most of orcish design. Jasimir, run as fast as you can and fetch Captain Tarannon and as many of his men as can be spared."
The lad sped off immediately, leaving Ted standing alone with a confused expression. "A skirmish? Why would my Sira be in a skirmish? And where is she?"
"As to where she is," Halbarad explained, "we are going to look for her. The one ray of hope in all this is that there are no bodies. Why Sira and Sevilodorf were caught up in whatever happened, we can but speculate."
Anardil stood motionless as the rain pattered more strongly. His voice, however, sounded quite certain.
"Margul."
xxx
They had dragged her closer to the fire, offering some respite from the growing chill, but no comfort. Sev's heart leapt into her throat when an orc loomed out of the deepening gloom and shuffled towards her. It crouched and hissed, open-mouthed, directly into her face. Nausea at the foul reek of its breath curdled her stomach, but the beast did no more than tug at the knots that bound her. Apparently satisfied, it shambled off again.
From her new vantage point, Sev could see both Lugbac and Sira. The big orc stood tied with both arms embracing a mature pine; head lowered and slumping against the rough trunk. Dim firelight illumined his tattered shirt, sliced by whip, blade and talon, which provided silent testimony to his battle. A battle he would have fought to his death, save for the threats Margul made concerning Sev's treatment if Lugbac did not cease fighting. Curled about herself, Sira lay in the narrow vee formed from two fallen trees. Though her face bore signs of a beating, her clothing appeared intact, and there was no evidence of the other deprivations Sev had feared.
No wonder the snake appeared so smug, Sev thought. He had gained the information he sought for far less effort than she imagined he expended. She huddled against the clinging damp and listened to the rain whisper in the heavy boughs overhead.
Moments later, the silhouette of the thin man appeared. Margul propped himself nonchalantly against a tree trunk and said amiably, "I must leave you for a short while to retrieve my belongings. If you are good, my lads will not bother you. If you try anything, I have instructed them to make your wait extremely unpleasant, at least from your point of view."
Pushing the threat immediately into a dark corner of her mind, Sev bit back a caustic retort. She could hardly try anything whilst tied so securely.
It seemed the man needed no response. His conversational banter continued.
"I don't anticipate that Sira will be lucky enough to escape my intentions for a second time. These lads are not careless, unlike the unfortunate Minna. But you, my dear, appear able to evade everything from kidnappers, to landslides, to ambushes." He crossed his arms on his chest, firelight lapping across his expression of wry amusement. "Though you are most probably oblivious to the fact, you have interfered with my plans on several occasions, and caused my most valued client a great deal of inconvenience. But all of this will be forgiven if I achieve my objectives tonight."
Blood chilling in her veins, Sev wondered how the man knew so much about her misfortunes. But of more immediate concern were his current designs. A questioning tilt of her head proved sufficient incentive for Margul to smile and elaborate.
"Firstly, my personal objective: to bring my servants back under my guardianship. Your information will be invaluable to that end. You will also assist in my professional objective."
Unable to stop herself, Sev asked, "How so?"
The silvery eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Your friends will notice your disappearance, my dear - as, no doubt, will Sira's. Search parties will be scouring even now most probably, scattering Rangers far and wide. Ah, I read your thoughts clearly. But I am not as careless as you imagine." He held out one long-fingered hand towards the drops hissing beyond the sheltering boughs. "The rain has washed away most of our tracks, and any that remain in the vicinity have been taken care of by my lads. Earlier, they laid several false trails that will undoubtedly survive the elements better than the true one. And while ever your comrades search for you, their attention is diverted from the other little problem I must deal with."
Pushing his shoulder off the tree, Margul stood straight-backed before her. "Wish me success, my dear. If I return contented, then you and I will have the opportunity to get to know one another much better."
He spun around to leave, but another word escaped Sev's lips. "Sira?"
Margul's head turned and shook slowly. "You have far too much compassion. Sira detests you and look where your ministrations for the girl have brought you. Please do not disappoint me with sentimentality; it does not suit a cunning mind."
Swallowing the entreaties which would only have revealed her weakness, Sev remained stone faced as the man snapped his fingers and directed the orc, Grom, to gag her.
"Not so tightly, Grom. The lady has been co-operative to this point and deserves to be rewarded." Addressing Sev, Margul added, "I do it so that you will not be forced to lie and swear you would not shout for help if one of those searching for you appeared nearby."
The cloth now tightly about her mouth, Sev was forced to forgo her scathing refusal of his courtesy, though her eyes left little doubt to her sentiments.
Margul nodded his approval. "Indeed, our relationship shall be a most entertaining one. I've had no one willing to match wits against me for quite some time. Remember to behave yourself, my lads are quite eager for some sport."
Walking into the murkiness and rain, Margul vanished from sight, Grom and another orc slouching behind him. Shortly after, the firelight extinguished, leaving the night as black as Sev's despair. She had not wished to intrigue the man, but to infuriate him. And now, even if he achieved what he wished, she was left with no doubts regarding Sira's fate. As for Lugbac, Sev could not decide which filled her with more horror; the idea of him becoming like those creatures who clung to Margul's coat tails, or the thought of the torment he would be forced to endure if he did not. The chill of the ground numbed Sev's body, making her thought-processes seem sluggish. 'The other little problem I must deal with.' What might that mean?
Then suddenly she knew. Everything, the whole bloody mess, revolved around the rights of orcs - Margul's tools, some of whom, given a chance, might cease their bloodthirsty ways and seek masters like Gubbitch and Lorgarth, like Farmer Tiroc and other open-minded men. But not before they had proof that the 'rights' meant something real - not until justice showed both faces, innocence as well as guilt. Only after an accused orc was set free from a court of law, would the race have any faith in those hard-won rights.
Margul's one little problem was surely the first orc who stood a chance of walking from a hearing with his innocence upheld.
Without realising, Sev struggled against her bonds while she imagined the worst that might happen: Anardil and the Rangers finding too many trails and asking Russ and Celebsul to help; Darien, Horus and Alfgard joining the search; even the stable-hand guards and soldiers. The only ones left behind would be women, children and, of course, Nik. No one would allow the orc at the centre of the hearing to wander abroad at night.
Fear for herself and Sira fled, as Sev's waking nightmare painted an image of the little Uruk-hai standing alone in the stable yard waiting for his friends to come back.
xxx
The search proved relatively easy at first, despite fading light, rain and mud. In response to Jasimir's alarm, Captain Tarannon arrived with his most experienced men, who carefully spread out ensuring that any tracks leaving the main group would not be overlooked. It also helped that an elf lent his keen senses to the endeavour; as fast as the sodden blue of dusk continued to deepen, his would soon be the only eyes that could see.
Little time passed before the terrain became difficult, veering up into a steep rock-strewn incline. Here grew evergreen trees draped with thick, lush leaves that made the darkness more intense. The trail petered out under fresh mud and pebbles washed down between boulders and trunks. Debris from the intermittent downpours lay everywhere: twigs, leaves, shale.
Ted, who had insisted on coming despite Jasimir being sent home, began to prove a liability when his optimism fled to be replaced by nightmarish speculation.
"What would orcs want with her?" His breathless query was punctuated by the scramble of an ill-placed step. "Would they keep her alive? Captain Tarannon, if we find her, what do you -?"
"Do NOT –" Tarannon wheeled on the young man, a rigid shadow in the gloom. "Do not finish that sentence. In fact, shut up."
The Ranger turned and nearly collided with Anardil.
Tightly the one-armed man said, "Get him away from me. As far from me as you possibly can."
With a curt nod, Tarannon tapped Ted sharply and led him off, to distract someone else further a-field.
The Rangers fanned out further in an effort to locate clear signs of where their quarry might have gone. Yet night had come early beneath the forest canopy, turning the search for tracks into a hunt for scent or sound. Soon Anardil stood frustrated in the middle, and swore under his breath when the rain began to fall heavily once more. An owl's hoot sounded to his right. Something had been found. After several moments, Halbarad and Celebsul appeared from amongst the trees.
"We've rediscovered the trail," the Ranger whispered. "It's over here."
Anardil followed his comrade, not noticing at first that the silent elf remained behind. Minutes later, another eerie hoot echoed from the left. Anardil ignored it while he examined the clear scrape mark of an iron-boot on a mossy stone, then the white end of a snapped branch a little further on. Without doubt, orcs had passed this way. Turning around, Anardil and Halbarad felt no surprise to see Celebsul standing before them.
"Tarannon has found another trail."
"You think they might have split up?" Hal asked the elf.
"That is one explanation. Perhaps you should look."
They retraced their steps and eventually joined Tarannon at the second trail. Metal scuffs etched rock, and black blood smeared a tree trunk sheltered from the rain by a canopy of leaves. Shaking his head in irritation, Anardil retraced his steps yet again to stand midway between the trails. The Ranger Captains came with him.
"We should split up into two groups," Tarannon declared.
Anardil scowled and blew air between his teeth. "Something is wrong … and where is that dratted elf now?" He rubbed furiously at his beard. "Give me time to think."
"But …" Halbarad began, desperate that so much time had passed.
Anardil threw up his arm in anguish. "I know! I know! Just a minute, please."
The captains exchanged glances then fell silent. Darkness shimmered and Celebsul stood alongside them. Noting his presence, Anardil nodded acknowledgement then spoke.
"How does a clear trail vanish into thin air, then reappear in two different places? If they were careless enough to leave such signs, why are there none whatsoever between the three ends? Have orcs taken to riding eagles?"
"Excellent questions." Celebsul stepped forward and held out his hand. Something appeared to be gripped between his thumb and forefinger, but in the darkness it could not be discerned.
"What is it?" The men gathered round to peer closely.
"A single strand of red hair."
Anardil almost grinned. "Where did you find it?"
The elf nodded to the rise immediately above them. "A third, almost invisible trail."
"A very clever fox, this Margul," Halbarad muttered.
"But how clever?" speculated Anardil. "How many layers of deceit is he capable of, or is he arrogant enough to think the false trails alone will fool us? We cannot take unnecessary risks. Captain Tarannon, perhaps it would be as well to send a couple of your Rangers along each side track while the rest of us take the hidden one."
Celebsul's soft voice interrupted. "Something else must be considered. While we are clearly anxious about our friends, we must ask why they have apparently been captured and why such elaborate measures were put in place to distract us."
"In answer to the first, I would think revenge," Tarannon responded. "At least from what Sira seems to have said."
Halbarad frowned. "But why Sev?"
"Wrong place at the wrong time?" the other captain suggested.
"No. Not that simple." Anardil stared longingly up at the dark hill then winced. "He would have just killed anyone he didn't need. And while it might be revenge in Sev's case as well, she does have something else of importance to him, if he suspects it."
"You're right!" Halbarad exclaimed quietly. "Sev knows where we hid the orc and Cullen. Damn! And the false trails must have been set to delay or scatter us. We better send someone to the stables to warn them, just in case. Wait here, Anardil. We'll get things organised and be right back."
The two captains disappeared into the darkness, leaving ex-Ranger and elf dripping uselessly beneath the rain.
"Does this all not seem too familiar, Celebsul?"
A grim smile curved the elf's lips. "You refer to when Sev was kidnapped by Darien and his men. It is that connection which brought me in search of her this time - the thought that Sev and bad weather are not a lucky combination."
Turning his eyes to the last midnight blue hint of light in the weeping sky, Anardil huffed in wry humour. "When we get her back, I swear I'll lock her in the closet every time it rains."
xxx
TBC ...