The way down from the pass was easier, and though there were places where the road was washed out, or covered in the rubble of a rockslide, they were passable without too much difficulty. Anna let Miriel lead, and did not say much. But the sharpness that had been in her voice was mostly gone. I am no longer a burden. Not a companion, perhaps, but not a hindrance. A wry smile. At least most of the time.
They went south from the mountains, over broad rolling downs in late summer heat. They were careful with their water, many streams now dry. Cautious also, more than they might before have been, from rumors Anna had heard from the plainsfolk, whispers of orcs moving in the western mountains. But they found nothing, only bare, empty land. They crossed the Thurinrim road, and followed the curve of the Ettenmoors south and east. There were trolls high in those fells, it was said, and though they did not often come down into the plains, they were nonetheless a danger to travelers. But it seemed that the trolls were content in their cool mountain caves, and Anna and Miriel saw nothing of them.
They turned away from the Ettenmoors at last and headed south, through rough country Miriel had never seen. They crossed one stony, narrow track, more path than road, that Anna said led to a pass at the headwaters of the Hoarwell. It was seldom used, for both Thurinrim and the High Pass, despite its name, were lower and easier. "Doesn't even have a name, so far as I know," she said with a dry laugh. "Folk just call it North Pass, when they speak it at all." But they did not go that way, and continued south toward the Hoarwell.
They trained every morning, and walked long into the evening, but Miriel found that her legs no longer ached at the end of the day, and the pack no longer seemed heavy on her shoulders. And as Kunebar and the mountain crossing faded behind them, fear faded also, leaving only pride, and she almost wished to cross paths with trolls or orcs. I am ready. Let them come.
But what they found at last was not orcs.
It was late in the day, as they climbed a long ridge, and sweat ran into their eyes in the afternoon sun. Miriel was in front, as she usually was now, and she sighed with relief as the ground flattened beneath her feet, and lengthened her stride toward the crest. But Anna's hiss of warning stopped her, and she dropped to a crouch. 'You never know what is in the next valley.' Anna had told her that, as had her father long before. But in heedless relief she had forgotten, and was shamed at the lapse.
Anna came up beside her. "Heard something," she said in a low voice, and crawled forward, holding up a hand for Miriel to wait. Faint irritation, but Miriel let it go in the sudden pounding of her heart. Is something there? Someone? Who? And then, Nothing good. Rangers patrol here sometimes, but she did not act like it was Rangers. And soon Anna was back, her lips a thin line. Not Rangers.
"Men. Druadwaith, by the look of them. Couldn't hear their speech. What they're doing here, I don't know. But dressed for a journey. Weapons, but not enough for a raiding party. And what would they raid? There's nothing here." A pause, and she glanced at Miriel, as if assessing. And then she jerked her head for Miriel to follow. They crawled back through the grass to a small rocky outcrop, and looking down Miriel could see the camp of the men below.
She counted ten, and plenty of weapons among them. But though she could not have said why, she thought Anna was correct. These did not seem to be men itching for battle. But what, then?
Anna let her look, then tapped her shoulder, and they slipped back into the shelter of the tall grass. Who are they? Where are they going? What do we do? But she knew better than to ask.
For a time Anna was silent, looking south and then east, and back south again. At last she let out a breath and turned to Miriel. "Dressed and packed for a long journey. If I had to guess, they're headed south, to find allies in their king's war against us." A pause, and again she looked away south and east. At last, she said slowly, "Might follow the Hoarwell and pick up the old south road to Dunland. But whatever they're here for, it's not good. For us, or the Breefolk, or anyone else."
"Dunland? Where is that?"
Anna looked at her, eyebrows raised. "Did that schoolmistress teach you nothing?" The corner of her mouth twitched upward, and Miriel thought, She is not the type to sit quietly in school. But then it was gone, and Anna's lips tightened, as if making a decision she did not want to make. At last she let out a breath and shook her head. "There's not a better way." She turned, looked Miriel in the eyes. "We can't do this alone. Not if these men are what I think they are. And certainly not without swords." A tight, mirthless smile. "I hope you know the lands around here better than you know the south."
"I—yes."
"Could you get to the Hoarwell bridge?"
And here is the next test. She forced her mind clear, pictured the maps Faelon had shown them. An ancient bridge, built by the men of Arnor where the East Road crosses the river. Where in these days a small guard of Rangers always kept watch.
At last she nodded. "Yes." Resisted the urged to say more. That is all she asked for, and all she needs.
Anna eyed her appraisingly, and the smile flickered again. "Tell me."
Miriel drew a breath, pointed south and a little west.
"How do you know?"
She explained how she reckoned the country, her sense of how far they had traveled, and how far they had left to go, the feel of the land. "And if I go too far east, I'll hit the river; too far west and I'll come eventually to the road." She chanced a half-smile. "Either way, I won't get lost."
Anna nodded. "True. But you'll waste time." And then, "Close enough. About what my guess would be. You've never been there?"
"No, never farther along the road than Amon Sul."
She nodded. "Usually half a dozen on the East Road patrol, but only three or four at the bridge." And then, with a sidelong glance, "Halbarad may be there, though most likely he'll be out on the road."
Then Calen may be there too. Miriel's stomach twisted, and she forced her face to show nothing, for she knew Anna would be looking for it.
"Whoever it is, tell them I need as many as can be spared. I don't think these rohsaeth will turn around quietly and go home."
Miriel swallowed hard, as she began at last to understand what Anna meant. But first, voice shaking only a little, "Rohsaeth?"
A tight, mirthless grin. "Horse-fuckers. Not much else on the plains, and winters are cold."
She tried to laugh, managed only a hoarse, grunting breath. Another breath, slow and controlled. And then, though she already knew the answer, "Where will you be?"
"Following them." Anna gestured toward the ridge, and the valley beyond. "If they turn east or west, I'll get out ahead of them, find whatever Rangers I can find. But I don't think they will. They're headed the same way you are. But you'll be faster."
Miriel nodded, but the implied praise brought no warmth. "I—I can't leave you alone."
She said it without thinking, and then cringed, anticipating rebuke. But Anna laughed, dry as autumn leaves. "I always patrol alone, girl. Except for you. I can manage." And then, all mirth gone, "We are not allowed to separate. One of the conditions of maethorneth training. I am not to leave you behind or send you away; you're not ready to face the Wild on your own. But there are rules and there are needs, and sometimes they are not the same." And Miriel thought, disconcertingly, that for a moment she sounded like Meren. "Any questions?" Eyebrows raised, and the thin smile was back.
"No."
"Good. Give me the heavy things from your pack."
Miriel obeyed, and when at last she retied the straps and swung it back up, she could not help but let out a breath of relief at the difference. Anna eyed her for a long moment. At last, quietly, "You can run fast, girl. We'll see if you can run long." And then, shaking her head, "Every Ranger must find what their body can bear. Better now than later." She reached out, grasped Miriel's shoulder, looked in her eyes. "Valar guard and guide you."
Miriel drew a soft breath at the shock of it, for this was another thing she had not expected to hear yet. And the final word was not there, for she had not earned it. But she had heard the response so many times that it came to her lips without thinking. "Valar guard and guide."
She did not run. She knew better than that. It would be days, and that was far too long to run. But fear drove her on, and she walked long into the summer night. At last she stumbled, allowed aching legs to release, and curled up exhausted in the grass.
The next day was much the same, and the next, and she came that evening to the valley of the Hoarwell. She did not go down to the river, but followed its course through the highlands, grateful for a road that could not be lost. On the fourth day it rained, welcome relief from the heat. She thought of the cold in the mountain pass, and Anna huddled beside her, warm against sharp rocks. Anna alone now in the rain. The image in her mind was strikingly clear: striding over the downs, or lying on a hilltop peering down at the strangers' camp, hood pulled over her hair against the rain, and again she could have been any Ranger. But she is not. And Miriel felt again that fierce pull, unexpected but not unknown, for she had felt it many times before, for Silevren, her father, Belegon. And again those words that meant little, and everything: She's mine.
She found a rhythm through the days. Despite weariness and urgency and fear, the walking itself was not unpleasant, over bright dry hills in the late summer sun. But on the fifth day the land began to flatten, and cresting a ridge she glimpsed a hazy shadow that might be forest, rising in the east on the far side of the river. And below her at the bottom of a long grassy slope lay the road.
With the end before her, she suddenly felt all the aches of many days' hard travel—and realized with sinking dread that it was not in fact the end. This is only half-way. Her eyes followed the road east, and though she could not see the bridge, hidden in the river valley, she knew it was there. And through exhaustion and aching feet, there was relief, and not a little pride. She trotted stiff-legged down the slope, and turned east on the road.
'How will I find them?' she had asked Anna.
'They will find you. They move their camp from time to time, but it will be close to the road. Somewhere a watcher can see and not be seen.' And so she scanned every hill and boulder and stand of trees, and was a little startled but not surprised when a whistle sounded from a rocky outcrop ahead to her left.
It could have been a bird call but was not; she knew the answering whistle, and gave it. And then a man stepped out from the trees. He wore no cloak, his face clear in the sun. She had hoped, but not expected, forced herself not to expect, and so when she saw him the words caught in her throat.
He strode toward her, on his face an expression so strange, so unaccustomed that she only afterwards realized it was fear.
"Where is Anna?"
"I—" Throat tight, she pointed back the way she had come. Halbarad's lips were white, but he said nothing, and in the space he gave, she at last found words. "She is well, or was when I left her," answering first the question he had not asked. "There were men, Druadwaith, ten of them. Headed south, she thought. Maybe to Dunland." Heard her voice begin to shake, drew a breath and forced it steady. "She said they were trouble and sent me to find you."
He stared at her for a moment. And then, carefully controlled, "She stayed to shadow them?"
"Yes."
He looked her up and down. "How long ago?"
"Five days."
He gazed off in the direction she had indicated a moment longer, then jerked a nod. "If she's right, they're perhaps two days away. Come." He turned and set off at a jog down the road.
In a small wooded valley to the north of the road the Rangers had made their camp. There were three of them, two drilling with swords, the other apparently asleep, wrapped in a blanket beneath the trees. She was struck suddenly with a powerful memory of Belegon's camp in the River Wood. Nearly home, nearly safe at the end of a long patrol—and finding that home was not in fact safe.
"We're moving," Halbarad called out as he approached the camp. The two that had been sparring stopped at once, breathing hard. Calen had been facing away from her, but she knew him from his back, and the way he fought. He looked from her to Halbarad and back again, frowned but said nothing, only unwrapped and sheathed his sword.
"Food for six days, and plenty of arrows." Curt, tension beneath forced calm. "Falaran and Calen, you're with me. Saelon, you're on your own." And then, more quietly to Miriel, "Get something to eat, and fill your waterskin." He gestured. "Stream's good." A curve of his lip that could not quite be called a smile. "Rest your feet."
She nodded, but there was a more urgent need. "We don't have swords," she said, as he was turning away. "We left them at Thurinrim."
He frowned but did not question. Later. When there is time. "We only have one spare." He grunted, jerked his chin at her bow. "You do all right with that."
He turned away, strode off to pack his own gear, and so he did not see the sudden tightness in her face, the flash of memory. All right. That's one way to put it.
And then Calen was beside her, pulling her into a brief, fierce hug. He handed her a piece of flatbread, and only then asked, "What happened, Mir?"
She told him as she ate, choosing words carefully, for she knew the others were listening. There wasn't much to tell, really, so much she did not know, so many guesses. But that is the way it is. You do what you can with what you have, and hope that it is enough.
They left not long after noon, traveling north along the river, back toward the place, as near as Miriel could reckon it, where she had left Anna. Anna would not be there, of course. But if she was right—and Halbarad thought she most likely was—the men they sought would be found along that way.
They spread out to cover more ground, staying only within calling distance of one another through woods and downs, and at last, late the next afternoon, after a tense day that found Miriel starting at nothing and looking over her shoulder at every noise, there came a call from her right. Falaran. She stiffened, heart suddenly racing, but steadied her breath enough to make the answering call. Then she made her way cautiously toward him.
They were in a country of rolling hills and scattered woodlands to the west of the river, hilltops bare, valleys filled with bushes and scrubby trees. She was at the bottom of one such valley, and came out of the trees to see Falaran crouched on the ground at the top of a slope. She climbed warily up to him, bending low. He said nothing, but gestured with his chin toward a shallow bowl on the far side of the rise. Miriel lay flat and crawled forward, as she had done with Anna days before—and there they were. All ten of them, resting, it seemed, in the heat of the day. A flicker of movement on the far side of the bowl, there and then gone. But she smiled, and was not surprised when some time later Anna appeared in the wooded valley behind them.
"Stay here," Falaran murmured, and scrambled down to meet the others who had come out of the trees. She obeyed, and waited with increasing impatience, wishing she could hear what was being said, what was being planned. At last she turned to see Anna gesturing her down.
Anna had already buckled the sword Halbarad had brought for her onto her belt, and the hint of a smile touched her lips as her hand caressed the hilt. She turned as Miriel came into the group, met her eyes and stepped close. And then her arm was around Miriel's shoulders, tight and fierce. Swift, almost impulsive, so unexpected that Miriel hardly knew it had happened before it was gone.
Anna turned away from her, and said nothing. And so it was Halbarad who told her the plan, as they followed Falaran along the foot of the ridge. "There's a narrow spot, half a mile on. Falaran saw it as he was coming up. They'll have to pass through it, unless they want to climb the hills. So we set up on either side, out of sight. They will be told to turn back. They won't do it. They'll be given a warning, by you." A grim smile. "They'll ignore it. And then they will die."
Her lips tightened, and her heart pounded in her chest. How can he be so calm? How can he say it as if it were nothing? But then she glanced Anna, saw hand on hilt grip and release, grip and release, and knew she was not calm. None of them are. Remembered Belegon's patrol, on the edge of the River Wood. 'And the Brave One said, Courage is not the absence of fear, but the will to master it, and do what must be done.'
The ridge above became rocky, and at last ended in a short, steep slope that ran down to a broad valley, at the bottom of which lay a small stream.
"This is the place," said Halbarad.
They hid on either side of the narrow spot, bows in hand. But Halbarad stood below on the road. Sword by his side but sheathed, he stood still for a time, and then went over and sat on a rock by the edge of the road.
It was hot, crouched among the boulders. Flies buzzed around her head. Small birds called in the grass, and large ones wheeled, dark and slow, in the sky above them. She wiped sweat from her eyes. Wish I hadn't left my waterskin—
A call. A bird but not a bird. Hiss of indrawn breath, and sudden tense movement. Shifting, stringing bows, loosening muscles stiff from sitting. And Halbarad stood, and walked slowly into the middle of the road. He paced a little, rolled his shoulders, wiped sweat from his hands and then rubbed them in the dirt for grip. And then again he stood, waiting.
