After an uneventful fortnight of traveling together, the two came to a small glade. They had strayed from their course over the Misty Mountains and closer to the eastern edge, toward the forest of Lothlorien. Angrenbor didn't want to get too close to the elf-haven, but the climate in the mountains was beginning to affect Briar Rose. So, for a reason he himself was not even sure of, the wizard led her nearer to the forests.

When they entered the clearing, Angrenbor stopped to survey the green sward. A perfect place to camp for the night. The hobbit woman beside him also stopped and ventured, "Sir, I would not stay in this place. It has a feel of evil in it."

Angrenbor struck her in the face, sending her to the ground. "You will stay in this place if I command it. Or will you defy me?" He tightened his grip on his staff, green eyes glowing dangerously.

Briar Rose shrank away from him. "No, no sir." She got to her feet, brushing away blood from her split lip.

Angrenbor put a hand on her shoulder. "Come on then. Let's make camp."

Together they pitched their camp. No, Angrenbor did not sit back and make Briar Rose work alone. Despite his cruelty to her, the wizard was not used to having everything done for him and helped her with most things that had to be done.

It was drawing on to sunset when they finished. Angrenbor lay sprawled out beside their small fire while Briar Rose slowly and carefully roasted a young deer her master had brought down.

The wizard lay on his back, smoking his pipe and staring up at the setting sun and fast appearing stars. His feet were turned toward the flames. Neither he nor Briar Rose said a word to each other.

Suddenly Angrenbor sat up, listening intently. Then Briar Rose heard it too: faint singing that was growing stronger by the second. Soon the singers were in sight; a troupe of about ten men in tattered minstrel garb. They approached the fire and formed a small semi-circle around it. Their song ended and the men stood silently, waiting.

Angrenbor got slowly to his feet. "Who are you? And what do you want here?" He groped for his staff and clenched it in white-knuckled hands. "Speak now!" he commanded.

The leader of the minstrels, a ruddy-faced man with graying hair and green-gray eyes, looked stunned at Angrenbor's hostility. "My lord! We are but traveling players, wandering hither and yon for the purpose of lightening hearts that are otherwise steeped in the darkness of this age."

Briar Rose stood, edging closer to her master. "Angrenbor," she whispered urgently, "do not trust them. We must away from this place quickly. These men mean us harm, I am sure of it."

The wizard scowled at her and swept her aside with his staff. "Silence," he hissed. "Your words are ever filled with talk of evil and malice in the world. Can you not for a moment open your eyes and trust?"

The leading minstrel nodded sagely. "Aye, we are only simple travelers. Let us play for you, young master, to soothe your heart and that of your suspicious maid servant."

But Angrenbor was still slightly wary. "At what price do you play?"

A strange smile came over the leader's face and a red light flickered in his eyes. "Food," he said softly. "Food is all we require of you for our skill."

Angrenbor began to relax. "Well, then, certainly we will hear you. There is food here for all." The wizard sat down again, pulling Briar Rose to his side. "Now watch," he growled, "watch your fears come to naught."

The hobbit sat sullenly by her master's side. She knew full well that the young deer she'd been roasting was not enough for twelve people and was aware that she would go hungry this night. But another thing weighed on her mind more heavily than the matter of food. She knew without doubt that these 'traveling players' were up to no good. She could feel it in the air, see it in their faces, and hear it in their words.

The minstrels began a song in the elven tongue, a song of love and sadness. Briar Rose waited until she was sure that Angrenbor was completely entranced. Then she fled into the brush.

Angrenbor took no notice of her. He listened, enraptured, to the haunting music of the travelers. As the meat burned and the fire died the young wizard sat unmoving.

As the moon rose into the night sky, the minstrels struck up a lively tune. Angrenbor smiled; this was the first song of this sort that the men had played all evening. He tapped his foot in time to the beat, and even picked up a small stick, tapping it against his leg in rhythm.

Then something made him look down at the stick into his hand. With shock he saw that in his hand was no mere stick, but a human finger bone, streaked black with dried blood. Crying out in disgust, Angrenbor flung the bone from him.

Now the young wizard's eyes were opened and he beheld the men before him as they truly were: skeletal wraiths whose hollow eyes were fixed upon him with hungry stares. The glade's floor was littered with bones new and old. The music of the wraiths, instead of life and joy, now held death and evil in their ringing tones.

The players began to advance on Angrenbor, leering at him as the wizard screamed in fear, all words of power forgotten. Hiding nearby, Briar Rose covered her ears and put her head between her knees, willing it to be over.

Just when the wraiths began to lay hands on the man, every one of them froze, listening. Angrenbor heard it too; a faint, clear voice, ringing through the trees. It grew stronger and soon the words it sang were discernable:

A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!

silivren penna miriel

o menel aglar elenath,

Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth

A figure entered the clearing, his face alight. He lifted his left hand and spoke a single word that Angrenbor could not understand. The grasping hands fell from Angrenbor and their owners' shrieks echoed in the night.

The leader only was unafraid, coming to stand nose to nose with the newcomer. "Begone, fiend of the Lady. This is our land. She decreed it so!"

Angrenbor beat the fair stranger to the reply. "Begone yourself! Your spells have no more power here." He then began to chant in Sindarin, voice waxing stronger and stronger while the ring on his hand flared with light. He seemed to grow taller and darker, fairer and also more fell than he'd ever been. This proved too much for the wraith leader and he fled into the dark after his band. As they vanished, the light from Angrenbor and the stranger faded until the only light came from the moon and stars.

The newcomer said, "We are not safe here. Follow me, quickly." Without waiting for an answer, he turned and bounded off. Angrenbor followed, a bit too stunned to object.