Chapter Eighteen
Grim men moved in the wet darkness, silent in their passage as only Rangers could be. They knew these woods, these shaded trails at the foot of the Ephel Dúath, and this night's work carried bleak reminder of the perils they faced not long ago, when Mordor's foul minions breached the borderlands of Gondor.
Before them went a ghostlike figure, Celebsul the elf, now the only eyes the company had that could pierce the inky veil of night. The Rangers themselves saw only shadows, and strained beyond hearing for whatever secrets the blackness held.
Several yards behind Celebsul, Anardil willed his mind to clarity and his heart to calm, focusing on the task at hand. Nonetheless, fear continued to clamp a small, tight fist in his belly, and he sought cold comfort in the familiar toil of the hunt.
A twig cracked in the dark woods and everyone went motionless. Nothing but the whisper of a breeze in bare limbs and a tapping of water from dead leaves broke the stillness. A moment more, and Anardil wryly reflected that the noise had probably been the unfortunate Ted, trying with mixed results to mimic the efforts of his Ranger companions.
More soberly, however, Anardil reckoned that Ted shared much the same fears for Sira as he did for Sev. Resolutely he shoved the thought aside and the hunters continued onward.
xxx
Clouds smeared the sky, hiding most of the hateful stars, but Margul's eyes were the twin moons that lit Grom's night. Each time either of the orcs looked back, those silver-green orbs flashed anger.
"Concentrate on the way forward, both of you. Stop worrying about pursuit. Men cannot see in the dark as you do. So make the most of our advantage. MOVE!"
The master's fury singed Grom's nerves. Far better the cold, logical man who planned carefully than this seething volcano. The sword remained unsheathed in Margul's hand, and Grom knew it would not be set aside until the steel had tasted blood - no matter what colour that blood might be.
If the enemy did give chase, the orc feared none of those men as much as he feared this one. Fixing his concentration on the grey details of the path ahead, Grom obeyed his master. Get Margul to his camp as quickly as possible. Let him leech his frustration on someone other than Grom.
xxx
The cloth bound about Sira's mouth prevented all but a high-pitched moan when she felt an orc's rough nails seize her ankle.
"Here now," growled a voice from the darkness, "you heard the boss. No fun and games until he comes back."
"Shut up, Trog. Ain't plannin' nothing fun. Just keepin' her warm," Ursak replied, and roughly dragged the girl toward him with his remaining hand. "Wouldn't want the soft little tark to freeze to death."
Crawling from his knees to his feet, Trog left the hollow he had scraped out on the lee side of a large boulder. He appeared as but a hulking shape as he snarled, "Not cold enough for even a tark to freeze. Boss said to leave them be unless they cause trouble."
"Who's to say she didn't?" Ursak replied with a sharp-toothed grin. He transferred his hold to the girl's waist and lifted her, kicking and squealing behind her gag, across his lap. "She's trying to get away now, ain't she?"
As she thrashed desperately against the orc's tightening hold, Sira's stifled shrieks reached nearly the pitch of a pinioned rabbit. Trog hunched his gnarled shoulders and nodded appreciatively.
"For a maggot, you get some right good ideas. But this one's mine. You take the other one."
Trog grabbed Sira's arm and jerked her out of Ursak's one-handed hold and onto her feet. The girl slammed against his torso, then yanked back with a mewling sound and twisted her face to avoid his foul-breathed, leering grin.
"My idea!" Ursak leaped up and attempted to pull Sira away. "Only right, I should get the young one. You take the round one."
Trog backhanded Ursak and tossed Sira down in a tangle of skirts and limbs beside Sev. Chucking the redhead under the chin as she squeaked and tried to scrabble backwards from him, the orc's chortle sounded like a handful of stones in a bucket.
His broken teeth glinted in the darkness and he growled, "You and me are goin' to have a right fun time after I settle this snaga."
In one fluid motion, Trog pulled a knife from his belt and whipped about to slash the approaching Ursak across the middle; but Ursak swerved away at the last second, his own knife drawing a trail of black blood down Trog's arm. A guttural howl of fury was echoed by an animalistic snarl as the orcs flung themselves at each other in mindless rage. Sev and Sira both squirmed further back to cower against tumbled logs while the deadly confusion of silhouettes danced before them. A cackling laugh marked the third guard's retreat to the top of a nearby boulder where he watched with yellow-eyed delight. Back and forth the snarling, thrashing battle went until a spray of hot, black blood signalled the end of Ursak. Trog rose slowly and kicked the dying orc, then tipped his head back to howl triumphantly.
But his cry of victory ended in a strangled gurgle for, as the blood-splattered women watched, two massive, shadowy hands wrapped themselves about Trog's neck and squeezed. Sira moaned when the orc was lifted up to dangle, legs kicking frantically, six inches off the ground. After the final wheezing gasp ended, the orc's body was discarded with a satisfied grunt.
Sev swallowed as Trog's killer pulled the bloody knife from the orc's dead fist and lumbered over to stand before her. An insuppressible shudder wracked her body as hard steel traced a brief line along her jaw. With a sudden jerk, the gag was cut.
"Thank you, Lugbac," the Rohirrim woman whispered raspily when the cloth was removed.
"They were bad," the orc said and sliced the ropes binding her hands and feet. Then he flipped the knife to offer it to her handle first.
With a shake of her head, Sev refused. "You keep it for a while. I'll find another. Where's our other friend?"
The huge orc looked about in confusion. "Friend?"
"The other orc," explained Sev, pausing in the midst of untying Sira's gag.
"Not a friend," declared Lugbac, consternation shading his voice.
"No, you're right. He wasn't. What did you do with him?"
Lugbac nodded toward the tree where he had been tied. Sev gulped as she realised what the two lumpy shadows at its base actually were.
"I had to. He was bad. Like the others. Like the man." The orc lowered his head. "I tried to be good, but they wanted to hurt. Gubbitch will be mad at me."
"No, Lugbac. He won't. He will be very proud of you for saving us." Sev sighed and, at Sira's impatient wiggle and muffled squeak of indignation, returned to the task of releasing the girl. "Though I can think of one or two people who won't be too happy with me."
Crouching on his haunches beside them, the orc nodded solemnly. "The Ranger mans will holler at you."
"Without a doubt. All three of them, then Alfgard will take a turn and Erin; and Cel will finish it all off with that blasted eyebrow of his."
A large hand patted her knee in sympathy. "Poor Sev."
Undoing the gag's knot at last, Sev took the cloth from Sira's mouth then motioned to the bodies of the dead orcs.
"Not poor at all, Lugbac. Lucky, incredibly lucky. As is Sira here, this makes the second time she escaped."
"And I would prefer not to have to do it again," the bedraggled barmaid exclaimed, holding out her hands. "So if you two are finished chatting could you cut me loose so we can get out of here?"
"An excellent suggestion," Sev replied briskly. "Lug, cut her free, while I find myself a knife." Standing, she surveyed the scene. "This place must look like a battlefield even from a distance. Maybe we should spend a little time to buy more time …"
Swiftly they armed themselves and arranged the bodies to look as if they were sleeping. Thereafter, the trio headed downhill, and the rain began to fall once more.
xxx
Black ranks of barren trees and snares of thickets seemed all the night would reveal. Anardil inwardly cursed the returning rain, for its whispering rush made a blanket of white sound that could conceal too many things. Last spring Margul had commanded enough orcs to ambush Sev and her companions on the road almost within view of Henneth Annûn. Although those orcs were slain in the attempt, neither Anardil nor the other Rangers dared presume anything but the worst, now. And the worst could be that Margul kept enough of his savage minions lurking out here in the wilderness to do real damage. After all, who was to say that the fugitive merchant did not have further, unimaginable plans brewing?
In Anardil's estimation, a man who violently opposed any legal considerations for orcs but freely used them for his own nefarious schemes was capable of anything. For all Anardil knew, Margul might have designs on the Crown and others in power who dared treat orcs as anything other than mindless beasts. The irony of the matter lay in that certain orcs made highly efficient assassins, whom Margul would consider disposable when finished or if caught.
Again, he shook himself from his brooding and refocused on his task. Follow Celebsul – wherever the elf had got off to again – and pray they found Sev and Sira before either Margul or the miserable weather did irreparable harm.
Several minutes later, he flinched as Celebsul's pale form appeared soundlessly beside him. In a bare whisper, the elf said, "I taste cold campfire smoke on the air. We are not far."
Not far, in elf reckoning could be anywhere from a hundred yards to two miles. But Anardil nodded and Celebsul faded off amongst the dark woods to inform the others. Moments later, Anardil heard the sound of a stream gurgling strongly. Meanwhile the whisper of the rain slackened and a faint lightening suggested the clouds were moving. Halbarad eased beside him, touched his shoulder and pointed ahead. Without a word, Anardil followed.
xxx
For an old, wizened orc, Gubbitch moved with surprising speed. Scurrying at his side, Nik occasionally pointed out hazards in the dark surroundings that eluded the eyes of men. Darien found it a difficult pace to keep up with, especially after tripping over stones and roots hidden in deepest shadow. At least his stumbles served as warning to Horus and Alfgard who followed behind.
After the Silverbrook Lord stepped into a deep puddle and almost fell into Russ' back, the Beorning took to growling quiet cautions each time he passed an obstacle along the route. Darien appreciated this, though he decided not to comment; the signals were more likely motivated by a desire for speed rather than concern for his well-being.
The group paused for bearings from time-to-time. Alfgard overtook Darien and Russ at one point to ask the orcs how far ahead their quarry might be.
"Not that far." Gubbitch's whisper sounded like rumpled parchment. "Easy to tell with footprints on wet muck. I'll show thee how when we've gotten these chuffs. Might be an idea to have us weapons at hand. Hunted been known to turn into hunters afore now."
Alfgard nodded and drew his sword. The rest did likewise before resuming the chase.
xxx
Sev threw back her hood and peered into the darkness. Though the branches continued to drip, the rain had ceased for the moment. Maybe now she could find that blasted stream. Drat Sira for tripping over her own feet and twisting an ankle. To be recaptured because of the girl's clumsiness would be the ultimate ignominy - though the certainty of having riled Margul enough to earn clean deaths might be counted a blessing. Her goal, however, was now life, not death.
"Where did the nmad thing go?" she muttered.
Sira oomphed as Lugbac dropped her heavily to the ground at Sev's side.
"Wait," he grunted. "I'll be back."
When the dark shadow of the orc vanished into the forest, Sev eased gratefully to a crouch. In constant motion since leaving Margul's hospitality, they had added many unnecessary steps due to her poor guidance. Given his exceptional ability to see in the dark, Lugbac started by leading the group. In an effort to avoid meeting a returning Margul, they shunned the obvious choice of following the stream, and headed downhill through the woods. A decision gone awry with Sira's fall. Walking on a slippery slope in the dark over unfamiliar territory while carrying Sira proved more than the orc could handle.
Sev had taken the lead and tried to follow the easiest terrain for the burdened orc, but she soon managed to become hopelessly lost. Realising that stumbling about in the black night placed them at an even worse disadvantage than running headlong into their former captor, they subsequently decided to return to the stream. Only now, she appeared to have mislaid that, too.
"Anardil would be properly ashamed," she murmured.
Beside her, the barmaid sighed and shoved her matted hair out of her eyes. "Ted won't be too happy, either."
Sira's words drew a quiet snort from the older woman. "Should we wait here until morning? By then they might be so worried they'll forget to be angry."
"Not a chance."
Sira gasped at the quiet voice from the hill above them, while Sev pivoted, sword in hand, to greet the speaker. Her next breath burst forth in a huff of exasperation.
"Nmad, you have to stop doing that. You're liable to get skewered one of these days."
She placed a reassuring hand on Sira's shoulder and tilted her head back as the cloaked figure slid downhill to stand over them. Even though she could not yet see his features, she knew the look on his face.
"Don't glare at me that way; I did manage to escape before you found me. Next time, maybe I'll get home on my own."
More shadows appeared on the hill above, and a low chuckle revealed Halbarad's presence. Anardil rolled his eyes and reached out his hand to lift Sev to her feet.
Emphasising each word carefully, he said, "There will be no next time."
From behind him, Tarannon muttered, "I'll wager a month's salary there is."
Sev bristled and exclaimed, "It's not like I do it on purpose."
Tarannon wisely refrained from commenting, though Hal laughed. "Accept it, Sev, you simply attract trouble."
The shrubbery beyond the two captains parted to reveal Ted's bespattered form. With a cry of "Sira!" the young man escaped Celebsul's steadying arm and careened down the hill to kneel beside the barmaid. Grasping her hand, he burst into an eloquent recitation of the horrifying thoughts which had plagued him throughout the search, and his joy at being reunited.
Sev gaped open-mouthed at the barmaid's elaborate protestations of delight. In faint starlight from between shifting clouds, she marvelled at how Sira miraculously appeared dainty and ladylike, in spite of blossoming bruises, a skirt shredded by thorn bushes and dark splotches of orc blood standing out against the paleness of her tattered bodice.
Unnecessarily, Anardil muttered, "Sira's beau." Then he continued, "We found the camp. Was that your handiwork?"
Scarcely able to take her eyes from the adoring couple, Sev replied absently, "No, Lugbac's. He broke free and killed two."
"And the third?" Hal stepped forward and blocked her view.
With a wry twist of her lips, Sev answered, "Killed in a fight over Sira. She was more to their taste."
"I suspect it was a case of them wishing to retain possession of all their vital organs," Anardil replied solemnly.
Sev narrowed her eyes and frowned, then snorted a laugh at her own foolishness. "I'll try to take their standoffishness as a compliment. Besides, their little tussle allowed Lugbac to break free."
"Where is Lugbac?" asked Celebsul gently.
Sev pointed into the woods. "Scouting the trail. I seem to have lost it."
Anardil glanced over her head at the elf, who nodded and disappeared in the direction indicated. Other whispers of movement indicated Tarannon's men spread out as a shielding screen against any foe lurking in the dark.
After sneaking another glance at Sira, who sat with her head on Ted's shoulder sniffing delicately, Sev began a precise report of all that had occurred during the past three hours. She noted especially Margul's references about how she had caused a great deal of inconvenience to one of his most valued clients.
"I haven't the vaguest idea to what he's referring," protested Sev. "I never saw the man before today. I've conducted no business with him. Then too, there's the comment he made about his 'professional' objective and how you being out here searching for me left the field wide open for him to deal with his problem. My thought was he meant to go after Nik."
The men exchanged glances, and Tarannon said, "Our own conclusion was that he must be focused upon locating Cullen and the orc, Odbut. We sent a messenger to Master Alfgard."
"Yes, that was what he called his 'personal' objective. He slapped Sira around trying to get that information, but I figured it wasn't worth suffering over. The pair of them are well guarded; so even if the man goes to the stables, how would he succeed in reaching them?"
"Not to cast aspersions upon your kin, Sev, but I hesitate to underestimate the man." Halbarad sighed. "He's linked to too many plots to write him off as incompetent."
"No, I would hardly call him incompetent." Sev regarded the sword she had carried with her from Margul's camp; there remained one sad task that she must accomplish. She looked from one tall man to the next and said in a low voice, "We must go back for Raberlon's body."
Halbarad nodded. "It will be done, Sevi, with all due courtesy; but you do not need to do it. Let us send you back to the village first."
"No!" exclaimed Sev and Anardil at the same instant.
"It is my responsibility to see that Raberlon suffers no more indignities," Sev declared stiffly. "My duty as a member of the family to which he swore loyalty."
Anardil declined to state his objections, but the Ranger captains could guess their friend had no intention of allowing Sevilodorf out of his sight. Arguing with the stubborn couple would obviously be a waste of time.
"Very well," Tarannon said.
With that, he began to organise the group returning to the village, sorting who would go and who would remain to hunt for Margul. The task was simplified by the reappearance of Celebsul with Lugbac, and the orc's agreement to carry the injured Sira the remaining distance to Henneth Annûn.
Lugbac grunted, "If Sev does not lead, will not take long."
Sev shook her finger at the orc when he grinned, then she reached out to touch the makeshift bandage on his upper arm. "Let Linnet or Erin wash all your wounds. Especially the bites."
The orc drew back; his face screwed up with distaste. "Will it hurt?"
"Honestly," Sev exclaimed to the sky, "what is it about males? They will suffer gouges, rips and bone breaking injuries without a single whimper, but when you try to heal them, all they do is whine."
"I'll see that he is tended to properly, Sevilodorf," Tarannon reassured her. "And Sira as well."
Ted stood and carefully helped Sira to her feet. When she stood in the circle of his arm, the young man looked at the assembled company and spoke in unsteady tones.
"I never dreamed I would say this to … to one of you." His gaze settled on Lugbac. "But thank you."
The big orc bobbed his ugly head. "I did good?"
Halbarad clapped his beefy shoulder. "Yes, Lug, you did good."
A gurgling sound may have been Lugbac chuckling delightedly. "Then maybe Gubbitch not get angry. Should I carry hurt lady now?"
Sira edged uncertainly forwards, encouraged by Ted's gentle shove. Gathering Ted's cloak about her slim shoulders, she said, "Yes. You may carry hurt lady now."
The huge orc scooped her up and settled her carefully against his chest, as if he cradled a wounded lamb. Then with Ted close beside, they followed Tarannon and a number of his men into the darkness.
After the homeward group vanished, Halbarad spoke to the remaining Rangers. "Find the two men Tarannon sent on the southern trail and meet us at the rocky outcropping below Margul's camp."
Watching the Rangers melt away into shadow, Celebsul murmured, "Perhaps the fox has met the fate he deserves by thinking a lions' den is a chicken coop."
Anardil nodded. "Aye. It is to be hoped that those at Alfgard's were able to capture him. But better safe than sorry."
"Please," Sev agreed with a shudder at the memory of Margul's finger tracing her jaw. "I have no desire to expand my acquaintanceship with the man. Least of all in the way he insinuated."
"Another reason for the orcs to prefer Sira, my dear. You were marked for better company."
The glacial tone revealed the emotions behind his words. Sev shivered again to think of Anardil coming anywhere near the repulsive Margul.
Sternly, she said, "Better safe than sorry means you will wait for the others before we go back into that camp."
"Yes, love, but the man is mine." Anardil took her hand and drew her close. "He is responsible for twice endangering that which I hold more dear than my own life. The debt is now due and payable in full."
Any envy Sev felt at Ted's outpourings vanished in that instant, and she reached up to touch his shadowed face.
"To both of us," she replied.
In Anardil's heart whispered the echoes of Sev's refusing the honor of riding at his right hand, and declaring her place to be at his left where he might have need for shield or sword. A true daughter of Rohan was his lady.
"So be it, my love, we shall share this dish of vengeance."
Halbarad and Celebsul exchanged glances; they stood witness to understandings of which they were no part. Silently they turned and, with Sev and Anardil following, began to make their way back towards Margul's hidden camp.
xxx
The volcano erupted just as Grom feared. Margul halted suddenly and hissed a stream of oaths. Then his naked blade flashed swiftly in the faint starlight, hacking off the limb of a luckless sapling. One by one, the small tree's branches fell beneath savage blows punctuated by threats and names: "Cullen", "I'll kill them all", "Harad scum".
Cringing, the two orcs watched their master vent his spleen, hoping the arboreal demolition would be sufficient to appease his bloodlust until they reached the camp. Neither dared interrupt the man's frenzy to point out the risks of delay. In fact, Grom reflected, if enemies appeared at this moment, Margul would probably chop them all into little pieces without pausing for breath.
Eventually, nothing remained of the sapling but a pile of leafy debris and the sharp green scent of fresh sap. Margul kicked the wreckage a few times before glaring at the orcs.
"MOVE!"
They didn't need telling twice. Both set off along the shadowy path again as quickly as they could.
xxx
Times had changed, indeed, when a Beorning followed an orc to hunt an orc. Yet in this rain-dark night Russ saw a new side of Nik, a stolid little hunter who hesitated not nor fumbled ever in his quest to save an imperilled friend. If Men wished to see Right when it was done before their eyes, they should see the gnarled old orc and the runty Uruk-hai coursing sure and silent as hounds through the black, dripping forest.
Russ himself moved with a softness of tread few would expect of a man as huge as he. But he, too, knew the grim pathways of war and, while he stepped over wet roots and between looming boles of trees, he remembered with grim discomfort the bleak years when Shadow encroached upon the Misty Mountains.
However, he did not allow such thoughts to distract his mind beyond the fleeting awareness of them. The night held its secrets but it told secrets also, to those with the senses to discern them. Thus he smelt the brisk greenness of new-cut wood almost as soon as Nik and Gubbitch, and he watched Nik crouch to briefly examine a tangle of small limbs.
"Someone just did this," the little Uruk whispered. "We're close."
As he passed, Russ glanced down to see the peeled whiteness of tormented branches amongst wet forest debris. Dourly he reflected that one thing never changed; those of evil heart delighted in destruction of all kinds.
On they toiled and uphill, but not far before another scent wafted on the breeze: the faint cold tang of a doused campfire. Judging by the tartness of the odour, Russ reckoned the fire had burned earlier this very night, perhaps whilst someone prepared a soggy supper, but then it was put out.
Gubbitch bobbed through the dripping thickets, bent and soundless, and whispered a grave warning to Alfgard, Darien and Horus. Without a word of reply, the three men spread out, until the group moved in a thin line, like grim harvesters through the forest.
xxx
Scrambling up the incline to the rocky outcropping which served as the landmark for their meeting with Tarannon's men, Sev muttered a curse when the branch she grasped proved spiked with thorns. Another item to add to Margul's bill, she thought sucking at her stinging fingers - though not the one of greatest consequence.
Her hand dropped to the sword at her hip, and her throat tightened. But there was no time yet for mourning Raberlon, and she would not disgrace the memory of his loyalty with tears. Drawing a deep breath, she climbed the last few steps and stood shivering in the wind that whipped about this barren slab of granite.
"Come, Sevi."
Anardil led her to the lee of a large boulder, and together they sat quietly watching the adamant stars wink between the tattered shreds of the storm clouds drifting north.
Finally, Sev leaned against his shoulder and whispered, "I should have …"
Firm fingers stilled her lips. "The night is not yet over. Wait until morning to count up the regrets."
She nodded at his wisdom and retreated into silence. The mournful muttering of the wind in the trees became ghostly voices from her past: family, friends and enemies, whom she had watched die. So many; too many. She closed her eyes and pressed her hands against her ears to block out the sound.
A strong arm gathered her close, and a soothing voice began to murmur against her temple.
Gradually the panic retreated. She drew a deep breath and expelled it slowly. Anardil eased his hold upon her and kissed her forehead.
"Better now, love?" At her nod, he said, "As Halbarad suggested, you do not have to do this. If you wish, we will go back to the village now."
"No. It is my duty, and as we've come this far, let's get it over with. Just promise me you won't face him alone. We do it together."
"Agreed. Here are Tarannon's men now. Let's go catch ourselves a fox."
"With luck, and if he is not already caught, we will arrive before he does and can lay a trap," said Halbarad from out of the darkness.
Celebsul stepped forward. "A man and two orcs, at most, unless he has released Odbut or found reinforcements. Yet a fox in a snare still has his teeth. Anardil, I know you justly seek revenge, yet I beg you and Sev to let others still those jaws …"
He did not finish his plea; silver hair flowed with the turn of his head as elven hearing detected sounds that evaded the others.
xxx
As the trio topped the ridge, a tiny crescent of the waning moon peeped through scudding cloud, lending enough light for a glimpse of the sleeping camp nestled in the shallow dip. Then darkness fell again.
"Not even a guard." Margul's quiet voice dripped with cold disgust. "Get down there and kick them awake, Grom … Grom?"
But Grom's nose twitched and he crouched with one clawed hand grasping his blade. "Blood!" he hissed.
"Aye," agreed the other orc.
Silver-green glinted like ice in the gloom. "Can you smell the colour of that blood?"
Grom looked at his master, wondering at the pathetic perceptions of Men. "No, Boss. All blood smells the same. All death smells the same."
In that moment, the wind veered and Grom hissed again. "Enemies! Nearby!"
"Get them!" Margul commanded, his sap-stained sword mirroring the hue of his eyes, the threat of his eyes.
Both orcs responded in the only manner they knew. When battle calls - go berserk.
xxx
The hunt ended with a yowl and blast of fury that burst from the dark - an all-too-familiar sound, to Russ the Beorning. As he spun to face the threat, Gubbitch sprang in a crooked leap far swifter than it seemed, colliding full-force with a snarling shape ere it landed on Darien's unsuspecting back. Alfgard roared his anger when a second form hurtled from the shadows, and Rohirrim blade screeched on rusty orcish steel. The onslaught drove Alfgard backwards to trip on an unseen root - but as he fell, Russ' great fist slammed into hard muscle and his powerful fingers clamped in sinew and bone. Roaring he flung the orc cartwheeling into black shrubbery, where Horus rose up in a flash of steel. The struggle on that quarter abruptly went silent. Gubbitch's foe broke free and bounded crashing into the brush, but the old orc snarled and leapt after.
"Darien!" Horus cried in sudden alarm.
The Silverbrook lord had plunged ahead and out of sight. Russ turned with wrath simmering in his chest anew, for Nik, brave, foolish Nik, scrambled off hard on Darien's heels. A growl of frustration rumbled in the big man's throat as he forged after his diminutive, hasty friend; he wanted this finished, done, ended for good. Battle in the wet dark of night in the shadows of ancient Mordor's borders was not a memory he wished to carry. He wanted to be done with wars and the trappings of war, the hatefulness and anger and just plain misery of it all. Out there on the Wetwang he had a right fine farm with a good house and barn and all his harvest in for the winter.
"What am I doing here?" he grumbled, and batted aside a clinging alder.
Long strides bore him through thicket and beck with no thought for silence - If the foe ran, so be it, and if they were fool enough to stand, it would be their last mistake. But he would see the sun come up on the living faces of all who served the cause of good.
A lithe dark form fled on past him; Horus, doubtless seized by the same grim fears. Then Russ broke into the open and saw the most curious thing. Staring, he nearly collided with Horus who seemed to have taken root in equal amazement.
In the centre of a clearing surrounded by whispering alders, where the pallid light of a sliver of crescent moon peered between shredded clouds, two men circled each other. Moonlight glinted on the blades in their hands, and they made no sound but the whisper of their gliding steps in wet leaves. Horus shot a glance up at Russ, and lifted a hand to stay the big man where he stood.
Margul. Anger rose like steam to burn the giant's throat - one squeeze, one snapping of brittle bones and he could put an end to the architect of their misfortunes. He moved but Nik suddenly blocked him, his small, hard hand clamping Russ' wrist. Meanwhile, step and step again, Margul and Darien slowly took each other's measure. A scuffing of leaves marked Alfgard's arrival, a rasp of harsh breathing Gubbitch's presence. Margul would find no escape from this place, now.
Horus' dark eyes gleamed bright as he looked up at Russ and said softly, "There is an older justice, Russbeorn. Let it be served."
So be it. Russ folded his great arms on his chest to wait, for should Darien fail, he most certainly would not.
"Traitor," Margul hissed, and exploded into the attack.
Those who had come to know Darien as a troubled soul deeply haunted by grief and regret abruptly saw another man entirely. Steel clashed and twined and screeched apart faster than the eye could follow, lithe bodies swift in sinuous grace as their blades darted and turned in flashes of metallic light. Darien leapt and bent from the strike that would have gutted him and lunged to the attack just as quick. Where Margul was sheer battering power and lethal speed, Darien was the savage wolf who struck and evaded and struck again, step and turn and step again.
Margul cried out exultantly when his sword hit a solid blow - but a deft twist and ward placed steel where flesh would have been, and Darien bared his teeth "Ha!" as they broke apart. Once again, the combatants circled, gasping now for breath while the tips of their swords wove lightly between them like the heads of waiting serpents.
"Yield now," Darien rasped. "You cannot escape."
"Yield?" Margul's high bark of laughter rang coldly. "To what, Lord of Fools? To dangle at rope's end? To face the headsman's axe? Oh no, traitor, consorter of mad dogs. You who will remember me - for the little while you live!"
A howl propelled Margul's next attack, brutal and hacking and unmindful of self as only the doomed can fight. Darien gave way, paced aside rather than in retreat, warding and parrying with blinding precision. Russ heard Horus' sharp catch of breath when Margul's blow struck the flat of Darien's blade only a finger's-width from the great artery of his thigh.
Yet from that ward Darien surged forward with a wild cry and now the lord of Silverbrook forced the attack. Steel on steel, blade on blade, they matched each other in deadly grace, their every move a contest of skill, a dance of death.
Then swift, so swift Russ never saw the blow until it struck, Darien shouted and Margul buckled and staggered backwards. Again flashed Darien's sword and Margul choked and dropped to his knees, his weapon falling to earth with a dull clank. When Margul looked up, he stared along the length of the taller man's blade and grinned his hatred with blood oozing darkly down his chin.
"You'll have to live with the fruits of your labours," Margul croaked. "Do you know what you have wrought, righteous fools?"
He cackled wetly, and Darien's mouth twisted in bitter silence.
Sucking short, gurgling breaths, Margul sneered, "You'll see. Your reward shall be a world where orcs count as men … the same as your sons … and the dregs of the earth shall lie … with your daughters. Fool, I fight the battle that used to be yours!"
Horus' hand on Darien's shoulder stilled any reply the nobleman might have made. The Haradrim's boot then lashed out to kick Margul's sword spinning out of reach - where it came to rest at the feet of several tall shadows. There Celebsul's silver hair glimmered coldly in dim moonlight, while behind him Halbarad and Anardil arrayed themselves with drawn swords in their hands. Margul saw them, and tried to laugh but instead choked and collapsed further to sit on his hams with one hand braced beside him.
"You have slain justice," he gasped, teeth bared in another bloody sneer. "Justice … for ten thousand years of murder!"
Horus pressed his hand firmly on Darien's chest, finding the man rigid under his palm. "Let be, Darien," he said softly.
Margul slid down again, this time slumping to one elbow. Booted feet shuffled closer, black silhouettes shutting out his view of the stars. Celebsul knelt beside the fallen man and in the darkness his eyes kindled with dim silvery fire.
"Tell us, then," said the elf quietly, fixing his fey gaze on the dying man's face. "Tell us about your justice."
The circle of men somehow shut Darien out, or perhaps Horus had urged him back unwitting. Russ suddenly found himself looking down at the pale oval of the nobleman's face, the wet sheen of his eyes.
"I started this," said Darien, his sword still dangling in his hand as if forgotten. "I started all this. So I had to finish it. Didn't I?"
Russ knew well the glazed, dislocated look of men who have stood too close to death. For the first time, he felt the stirrings of something like understanding for this strange, stiff man from the hills beyond Minas Tirith.
"It is finished," he said. His hand dropped to Nik's shoulder as the little Uruk-hai came to stand beside him. "It is done."
"Aye." Slowly Darien nodded. "Aye, then."
Thereupon he let Horus shepherd him away towards a fallen log at the far side of the clearing. Russ watched him go, watched him bend and drop to his seat with boneless heaviness and then put his head in his hands.
"Teach?"
Russ looked down at Nik's dark form.
"I think we did pretty good," said the little Uruk-hai. "Don't you?"
In answer, Russ patted Nik's shoulder and offered a wan smile. After that, he stepped closer to listen to what words Margul would leave to the world as he died. Judging by the intense silence surrounding the man's mutterings, he said some very interesting things, indeed.
xxx
Vengeance or justice - which motive guided the events of this night? Darien listened with half an ear to the choked, sneering tones of Margul's confession, if it could be called that, and found he had no answer. Not long ago, he agreed with the arguments pouring from the dying man's lips. Orcs were no more than beasts, incapable of compassion or kindness, deserving only death. The same beliefs had lent righteousness to his campaign to wipe the remnants of that race from the face of Middle-Earth. Unfortunately, that campaign ended with the kidnapping of an innocent woman, the death of Landis, a man who had stood at his side since he was little more than a boy, and the almost certain sentence of death for Nik the Uruk. As captain, he held himself responsible for every misdeed committed by the men under his command, for if he did not oversee them, who would?
Thus, he had spent the past months seeking to redress the harm he had done to the people of The Burping Troll. People who had somehow managed what his campaign of revenge had not: to put the war behind them and find a way to live in peace with their former enemies.
The flow of Margul's words ebbed, uneven breathing gurgled and caught and after a pause, sound ceased entirely. The wordless silence that followed proved the fugitive merchant was dead. Darien lowered his head and prayed that with this death, it was indeed over: that he would be allowed to return to his lands and think only of resuming a fruitful life. He had orchards, vineyards and fields to tend, people to govern; Evan and Neal still needed the guidance towards manhood that their slain father could no longer provide.
Gradually Darien became aware someone had stirred up the embers of the fire and that a small oil lamp had been discovered and lit, though the sights revealed by its glow made one long once more for darkness. Something would have to be done about the bodies of the dead orcs: those here, and the two who had attacked on the trail. It was time for him to cast aside his bleak musings and assist with the tasks at hand. As if the thought had drawn him, Anardil appeared from beyond the firelight and strode grim-faced toward Darien.
Horus touched his shoulder, and Darien sighed. There was no debt left unpaid. In response to his lady's request, the ex-Ranger had set aside any claims to compensation from Darien for the injury done to Sevilodorf that winter day so many months ago. Yet, there had remained a stiffness in Anardil's demeanour which spoke of how hard it was to forgive hurt done to a loved one. Darien stood to face the man, Horus stepping back, but not too far.
With a slight nod to the two men, Anardil came directly to the point. "I would ask a favour of you, Lord Darien."
"If there is any way that I might assist, you have only to say," the Silverbrook lord replied.
"You've done quite a lot already this night." Anardil nodded toward the still form of Margul, his ragged disguise covered with a curiously fine cloak. "But a thorough search of this camp must be made in hope that Margul left some tie to the others with whom he dealt."
Darien winced inwardly. It might have been better if he had not killed the man. Had Margul's deathbed statement been sufficient to untangle the web of deceit and reveal the criminal's powerful friends?
Controlling the desire to ask for details of Margul's final words, he said, "Of course, how may I help?"
"Sev refuses to leave without the body of Raberlon. 'Tis her duty and I will not deny her." Pausing briefly, Anardil seemed to gather his resolve before stating his request. "I do not wish her to sit vigil over the body alone while Alfgard collects the remains of those who attacked you on the trail. Will you stand guard with her?"
Noting the stiff earnestness writ on the other man's face, Darien recognised this as a peace offering. The honour of standing watch with the dead was never to be taken lightly, and this would be the best and possibly only gesture Anardil could ever offer.
"Yes," said Darien, and bent his head in a small, solemn bow. "I will do so gladly."
"She is there." Anardil gestured toward a point of light beyond the clearing.
As he stepped back to let Darien pass, Horus followed but paused briefly to meet the former Ranger's eyes.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Anardil nodded once and watched them go. Horus the Haradrim knew about debts. Whilst Darien walked into the small circle of light where Sevi kept her vigil, Horus settled amidst shadows to keep his own watch.
xxx
TBC ….