Gradually, Durus awoke. He neck was as stiff as a wooden branch from leaning against a horse for warmth the whole night. He crawled out of the shelter and found Surad cleansing her face with melted snow. He joined her, wiping the dust and grime from his hair and upper body with the frigid water.

"Where are Elden and Nellas?" He asked.

"Off gathering supplies I believe." She replied. "I saw them kissing last night, after you went to bed."

"You were spying on them? What is your obsession with those two?"

Surad smiled.

"You're just mad because I was right."

Nellas's nimble fingers grasped between the thorns of the thistle and plucked its delicate purple flower from the stem, depositing it in a small pouch with the other plants she had collected. Despite the fact that she had not been schooled in the natural remedies that grew in this clime, she recognized certain species. It was curious that a milk thistle had retained it's summer bloom for this long.

Off to her left Elden was chopping wood. His sleeves were rolled up, and the sinews in his arms bulged each time he brought the hatchet down to split the branches into smaller pieces. It was still bracingly cold, but the sun was very bright, and its energy reflected off the snow so that they were twice illuminated.

She still couldn't figure out quite how she felt about Elden. In her mind he was no longer a lost little boy who needed some help, he was... something else. A man. A friend. A companion.

It was his turn to catch her staring. He met her gaze, an act that always set the hairs on the back of her neck on end. He planted his hatchet in the snow and leaned against it, as an old man might lean against a cane. With his left hand he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew an empty bottle of cider. He let it drop to the ground, and the slope bore it down to her feet, where it bumped gently against her boots. She picked it up and examined it. She only vaguely remembered drinking the whole thing, but she had been desperate to get warm in the wee hours of the morning and had underestimated the intoxicating effects. Under its influence it had seemed a perfectly good idea to go and demonstrate her feelings to Elden firsthand. In the light of day, however, she felt foolish.

Thankfully those startling blue eyes didn't look angry or annoyed, merely curious.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

It was a simple question, but the more she considered it the more she realized that the answer was no.

"I'm trying to... work through some things. In my head, I mean. Now isn't the time."

"And when will the time be?"

His voice was calm, but it carried a force about it that suggested he would like it to be as soon as possible.

"I don't know. Sorry."

Elden shrugged and went back to his woodcutting.

Four pairs of feet pounded over the ground. The wall loomed ahead of them, massive and monolithic. To their left the gates that had once stood guard over the greatest realm of Arnor still bore the marks of the Witch King's siege engines, several hundred years old. One of them had been torn from it's hinges entirely and lay flat on the ground, sundered into three pieces by the force of Angband's armies. The city had been recaptured, but since abandoned, and was definitely the worse for wear.

They reached the base of the wall at a place where the top level had collapsed down about halfway, providing a much less formidable place to being their climb. Elden shunted a coil of rope from his shoulder and grasped one of the ends which was fastened to a three-pronged hook usually used for bringing two ships together at sea. He used it for hauling himself into trees to hunt game or hide from enemies. The cord was strong stuff, carefully woven together by the talented women-folk of Bree. He threw it once, twice, three times, but it failed to catch and clattered off uselessly.

"I thought you were supposed to be good at this." Durus said.

"Apparently not." Elden replied, dryly.

It wouldn't do to antagonize the man further. Besides, if he had to be honest his mind was a thousand miles away from the task at hand. He wanted to ask her what was going through her head, but he didn't. He couldn't stop thinking about the kiss, though. Every time he turned his thoughts to the ring and finding Ferny, the memory of that warm embrace wormed its way into his mind and grew like a weed, choking out everything else.

Clear your head. He reprimanded himself, his inner voice adopting the tone of his father. Focus.

This time the hook caught. He tugged on the rope sharply, and then pulled himself off the ground by his arms and hung there for a few seconds, to ensure that it would hold his weight. He had seen farmers using it to hitch oxen to plows in the Breeland, but there was no telling what wind, rain and frost had done to the fibers. Apparently it had not suffered any ill effects, because it staid intact.

Elden went first, with the two Haradrim close behind and Nellas bringing up the rear, effortlessly hauling her own weight plus her pack. Up they climbed, hand over hand, without anything to catch them should they fall save a bed of gravel and a few bushes. When they reached the point where erosion and the constant wedging effect of frost had crumbled the wall they carefully clambered up, one at a time, and then climbed the treacherous pile of loose bricks to the intact battlements. From this height they could get a proper view of the city.

The city itself mirrored the fortress in that it was constructed in a massive square. The interior was further subdivided by slightly shorter inner walls. Most lacked gates, either because they were not designed with them or because the originals had been forcibly removed, likely by a troll or two. The battlements were covered on two sides with a wall about chest height, allowing them to crouch to avoid being seen. They had need to do so often. Sentries roamed the inner walls of certain districts, and twice they were forced to retrace their steps and choose another path, so as to avoid rousing the whole fortress. He had no idea how they were going to locate Ferny, but it didn't matter. They hadn't come this far to turn back without being absolutely sure.

Early that morning, before they had secured the horses and set out for the fortress wall, Elden had scaled a tree and observed the movement within Fornost for a good hour or so. For orcs daytime seemed to be a period of rest. He had never heard of them being nocturnal, but it sure looked like it. The sentries didn't do much watching, mostly they sat and drank or cleaned between their toes, anything except keeping a proper lookout. If they were careful, nobody would have to know they were there at all.

None of them had protested. Not even Nellas, and he knew that she was aware how stupid and pointless it was to go into Fornost. The ring was gone, and the rational voice inside his head knew it, but somehow he just couldn't bring himself to face it. That ring had been his meal ticket. Both the reason and solution to his suffering. If he didn't get it back, none of the hardship he had gone through would have been worth it.

At the middle of one of the inner walls in the southeast sector, they ran out of options entirely. A patrol was coming down the outer wall that ran perpendicular to theirs, and another one was coming from the opposite direction. It was highly likely that one of the groups would turn and come down onto their wall when they passed them. There was a very short conversation conducted in whispers. Then Elden looked out into the city to their left. Most of the spires that stuck up above the level of the wall had been taken off altogether, a result of ballistae fire from battles long past combined with weathering and the tramping feet of orcs. The lower levels and tenant buildings had survived, but the streets and the market quarter were filled with rubble and debris. Wooden structures had long ago been broken up to fuel the campfires or rotted away in abandonment.

Throughout the ruins, orcs had brought in their own crudely hewn wooden planks and created pathways between buildings by exploiting holes already present or knocking out new ones. There were not many creatures moving about, at least not that she could see. All of them were on the rope again, trying to let themselves down as quietly as possible and with as little banging against the hard stone of the wall as possible. Elden had taken both his and Nellas's packs and secured the contents with strips of cloth so that they would not rattle as they walked. Shape, shine, shadow, silhouette and spacing. He had practiced these techniques all his life, and they had allowed him to fall back on hunting when there was no other way to find food. Then of course, he had encountered thievery, and this made use of many of those same techniques...

His feet were first to touch the ground. He waited until they were all down and then gave the line a mighty jerk. A loop of slack rippled up the rope, and the hook was flicked free of its hold. He almost tripped over his own feet as he ran to catch it before it clattered onto the cobblestones. The sound of other footsteps caused them to wheel about in panic, and they just managed to get out of the street as a group of orcs passed them, fleeing silently into a nearby building.

The floor was littered with bones, some of which looked suspiciously human. A rich stench hung over everything, a mixture of rotting meat and sewage typical of orc dwellings. Behind a ruined front desk an enormous troll slept, his drooling face leaned against the stone. They were grey and lumpy creatures, even uglier without their armor. His was piled in a stack in the corner, ready to give someone tetanus with its multitudinous metal spikes. They crept quietly through this room and into the next, which was in similar shape. Through a hole in the ceiling they could hear orcs talking from the floors above them. For the third time Elden remarked that they were speaking the common tongue of Westron. Not only that, but they seemed to have a much better grasp of it than their brethren from other parts. Usually their civilized speech was confined to hurling insults that were more often confusing than genuinely insulting.

"Ish a two thirds split, yew 'eard 'er yourself!"

"Yeh, but I'm sayin' we should be takin' two thirds, not 'er."

"Thas not how it works, Vog. Mrs. Bones will 'ave your ear for thievin'."

"But we thieved it in the first place! Whats a bit more thievin' to that old spider anyway?"

Orcs that can count? Elden thought. That truly is frightening.

They moved out into the courtyard that connected all four sides of the tenant complex. The space between the planters had been filled with trash and... "leavings" tossed from the windows above. Planters that still had earth grew only weeds. It made Elden angry at the mere sight of it. What a waste it was...

As they moved past street after street, carefully peeking past every corner before rounding it, his spirits began to sink. Every step felt like it had been borrowed from someone else and would have to be repaid in full. The next district was completely empty. The flames of a great fire had burned it all to black, and even moss refused to grow on its scorched surface. As their feet dragged against the cobblestones they raised little clouds of black ashes. Something in the dust made his throat sting, but he didn't dare cough. All was still and quiet.

Up ahead was another gateway. A large portcullis was secured across it, but the iron was held together by bolts and some of these had been pried away, leaving a large gap near the bottom. As they got closer, they could hear shouting and hooting. Elden hadn't realized how much the walls blocked out the noise from other portions of the city. It occurred to him that this place probably had far more goblins residing within it than he had at first supposed. It also occurred to him that if they were somehow trapped, or an alarm was raised, they would all be in a very tight fix and it would be his fault.

"I have one last place I want to search."

They slid over the streets like a curse, out of sight, out of mind. A great group of orcs was gathered in the square, where the loose bricks had been swept up and made into a low circle. Inside this circle, two enormous direwolves tore each other to pieces. Drink splashed. Gold changed hands. Nellas could smell the sweat from a great distance. Then again, she could sense many things from a great distance. Other creatures walked around with blinkers on. Very little escaped the notice of elves.

For example, it had not escaped her notice that the likelihood of them finding Ferny was dropping precipitously, but she was pretending it had because she felt it was the right thing to do at this juncture. Even if he was long gone, she could feel a tension in Elden. It had been building all that morning and his demeanor practically screamed it. Most humans spoke more when they became agitated. Elden was the opposite. He pulled himself farther and farther into his shell until something poked him, and then he lashed out.

They met no more orcs on their way through the side-street. On the left side of the street up ahead she could see the massive stone steps and columns of Fornost's central stronghold, at once a castle and a temple and a testament to the strength of men all in one. Worn faces stared down at them from the murals sculpted into the space between the ceiling and the roof. Time and weather had smoothed their relief, but their gaze still held the intensity of another age burning through, a proud age of trade and triumph. The steps they approached led up to the east wing of the palace, which, if she remembered her history correctly, was devoted to the worship of the Ilúvatar. It was a thick, square monolith of stone topped by an enormous dome. At the top of the steps stood an orc, obviously anxious to be off guard duty so he could go watch the fight that was raging somewhere behind them. A direwolf similar to the ones pitted against one another was chained to one of the pillars. They halted and melted back against the wall, Elden drawing his bow.

"Here, give it to me." Nellas said, putting her hand on the curve of the wood.

"I am perfectly capable of hitting them from here." Elden replied, and tried to move the bow around her hand.

She wouldn't let him.

"I understand that, and I do not mean to cast doubt on your prowess, but if they are not both taken out at once, the result would be disastrous."

Elden continued to grasp the bow for a moment, and then gave in. Nellas drew two arrows from his quiver and notched them one above the other. She adjusted her middle finger carefully, adding the appropriate amount of spacing necessary, and then waiting to ensure the targets did not move.

Her body tensed.

She drew the string back to the limit of it's draw and then held it there, still as a statue. Then she let the shots fly. Both orc and hound collapsed, a missile stuck neatly in each skull. They had no time to be impressed, or even to hide the bodies. They took the steps two at a time, and then halted before the oaken side doors that led into the mezzanine. It was a square room, and at one time was ornate and richly furnished. The carpet was stained with the mud from many dirty footprints and the decorations had been mostly destroyed or defiled. In the middle of the floor the stairs led down to another story, where there was an entrance into the cathedral proper. Elden made a motion towards the doors all along the walls, and they began to check them. Already Nellas could hear a voice speaking in the black speech, but which door it was coming from was difficult to tell. It was quite unlike the crude Westron the other creatures had been speaking. Each word was fully formed and rich with malice.

"If the boys want to be paid they have to obey the rules Mrs. Bones sets. There are no exceptions."

"I will relay your wishes. What should be the punishment if they refuse?"

"Death."

Elden indicated the door the noise was coming from. Surad and Durus dashed over and threw it open. All three moved into the room beyond, where both the chieftain and his servant were caught completely by surprise. They only had time to gurgle as knives pierced them and their life drained out onto the floor. Nellas felt a little queasy as she too entered the room and found them rumaging through its contents, stepping nonchalantly over the pools of blood. They were orcs, true, but humans seemed to derive altogether too much pleasure from killing them.

"Look at this!" Elden exclaimed, picking up a pair of sacks bound up with twine.

They let out a familiar jingle, and when they were opened they revealed fat, shiny gold coins. Elden pushed the body of the chieftain off of the chair and began to count the coins with a practiced air, flipping them between thumb and forefinger. When all were tallied he tossed a bag to Surad.

"Here. A down payment for all that walking and tracking you two have done."

"Much appreciated, horse-master."

Nellas watched with a distinct air of impatience, which did not escape Elden.

"What? You want some?"

Nellas shook her head, more than a little repulsed by the lust for gold that gleamed in their eyes. Treasure always seemed to hold a strange power over humans. It surpassed even the dwarvish preoccupation, who loved a thing for its hardness or its beauty, whereas humans always seemed to be calculating value. What can I get for this? It was no wonder they were more susceptible to the corrupting effects of the ring's power.

"Of course not." She said, disdainfully. "We're wasting time."

Elden shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

The dome was enormous. It looked like something that had been wrought by the gods themselves rather than anything made by the hand of man. Carvings lined the surface in concentric rings, telling the story of the founding of Fornost in faded lacquer. The dome was supported by massive columns even larger than the mostly decorative pillars on the outside of the building. Behind these were other open hallways with doors leading off of them. Shelves and furniture had long since been ripped up and carted away, and only the fragments of many thousands of pieces of parchment still fluttered through the room, borne aloft by a draft of air leaking in from somewhere, probably the dome. Several cracks were already spidering up it's surface, but nothing had fallen free yet, a testament to the great engineers of Arnor.

Several orcs were sitting near the ruins of one of the columns. Two of them were playing some kind of game of chance with human knuckle bones while the rest watched, giving advice and mocking the one they weren't betting on. One of their number turned away from the spectacle and walked towards one of the doors, intent on reliving himself. He passed into the shadowy backside of a column, where the noise from his compatriots was enough to overwhelm the noise of a large, swarthy arm snapping his neck like a wishbone. The other orcs did hear footsteps however, but by then it was several seconds too late. Nellas wrenched her arm upwards, slashing from shoulder to hip. Another one of the foul creatures launched itself at her, but met only a pointed edge. She un-skewered the unlucky soul and left him to die, turning her attention to the ones that were grappling with the Haradrim. Durus had suffered a nasty gash across his bicep, and he was struggling to keep the long hacking edges away from him with just a dagger and two metal vambraces on his arms.

Time seemed to slow even further as her hands rushed out to deliver the blade to her enemies.

She had practiced these motions thousands of times, and yet it was entirely different when there was something fighting back on the other end, even something so loathsome as an orc. Her hand plunged the blade into one, then two orcs. Another swung a mace and chain, but it missed, and Elden picked up the ball between the spikes and looped the chain around the orc's neck. It struggled for almost a minute, but eventually the flailing limbs went slack, and he let mace and orc tumble to the floor with a clatter.

For a moment, all four of them stood absolutely still, searching for another threat, but there was none. It was silent save for the deep, gasping breaths they were all taking Slowly, they began to become conscious of their surroundings.

Beneath each mighty archway stood a statue of a god or gods. It was curious to Nellas that the humans had created the other Valar in the same size and prominence as Ilúvatar

Each face had been carefully crafted and polished from marble, and from their size it was obvious that they had been carved in the room itself, or perhaps lifted through before the dome was complete. They were so large that their heads nearly clipped the apex of each archway. The orcs had not possessed the time or the equipment to build a ladder high enough to deface the statues as they had the rest of the building, and so had to content themselves with vandalizing the base and legs.

They stared down with differing expressions based on their temperament according to human lore. Manwë the Good and Pure and his wife Varda, whom the elves knew as Githoniel and Elbereth. Aulë, the master smith and his wife Yawanna, the creator of the ents. Ulmo, the lord of waters and Irmo, master of desire and his wife Estë from whose power the gardens of Lórien bloomed brighter than any in Valinor. Nienna, who dwelt in the far Western regions of Valinor, whose windows look out beyond the Walls of Night and whose tears have healing powers. Oromë the hunstman and his wife Vana, friend to flowers and birds. Tulkas, the strongest Valar, fond of great feats of skill and daring, and his wife Nessa, the agile spirit of the woods.

There too was Mandos, the keeper of the Houses of the Dead. His spouse Vairë occupied the same pedestal, in her outstretched hands a spider that Nellas supposed was to represent the way she weaved the fabrics of fate together to create a record of all time.

"Durus... you are bleeding."

"I realize that." Durus growled, clutching his arm.

Nellas slipped off her pack and rummaged around in it, producing a roll of clean linen and a jar of crushed leaves. She took a pinch from the jar and sprinkled it between the lips of the gash. Durus hissed through his teeth as the powder made contact, and the gash began to shrink slightly.

"Pull your arm out of the sleeve." She said, before adding "...carefully."

When he had done so she rolled the gauze over his arm several times, ensuring there was as little slack as possible without cutting off circulation. They both stood, and he examined her work.

"Thank you."

She was a bit taken aback. She had never expected to hear those words coming out of his mouth. Perhaps some of Elden's biases were rubbing off on her. Durus gazed around at the ornate decoration on the walls.

"I wonder how much that would be worth if we carved it out..." he mused.

"I already cut you in on the spoils. That-" Elden said, pointing to the portions of mural that the orcs hadn't destroyed. "-is not a spoil. It's a piece of my history. Someday soon Ellesar will clear this place out properly, and when he does it should be as intact as possible."

"You're bleeding as well, Elden." said Surad.

Nellas turned and saw that this was true. Blood flowed from underneath his wrist, and it was dripping gently onto the marble from the tip of his index finger. The Harad woman grasped his arm. He tried to pull it way, but her grip was firm.

"One of the spikes from the mace poked me. It's nothing."

"Nonsense. It could get infected and then we'd have to carry your gangly..."

She trailed off as she turned over the wrist and saw what was emblazoned there. By chance the scratch had been made right in the very center of the mask's eye. Mandos was weeping tears of blood. Surad let go of his arm as though it was red hot and took several steps back.

"What is it?" Durus said suspiciously.

"He's got the mark of the headsman, Durus! They want him dead."

"So? Plenty of people want us dead as well, darling."

"What did you do?" Surad persisted, unshaken. "Murder?"

"I did nothing except invite the displeasure of the Lord Regent of Edoras. That was enough. But believe me, I have earned that mark since I escaped."

Elden turned and began to walk away.

"I'm going to check these rooms, and then we can leave. Bill Ferny isn't here."

The quiet in this city was not like the quiet elsewhere. On the road it was rarely ever completely silent. Even on a cold evening in the dead of winter the winter the wind could be heard, gentle though it was. Here the stone enclosed them like a tomb and ate up the sound of voices and footsteps, giving them back only distant and distorted echoes.

Nellas peeked around the corner to see Elden kneeling in front of what was left of a stone altar, the last lines of a prayer on his lips.

"...crashing waters on the deep, mighty Eru my soul to keep."

She came in and sat down on a bench beside the wall.

"I did not mark you as a devout person, Elden."

He stood up quickly, as though she had caught him doing something strange.

"I'm not, but it never hurts, right? When you're out of options you appeal to god."

"Call on god, but row away from the rocks." Nellas replied, echoing the words of a teacher she had once studied under in Imladris.

Elden smirked and took a seat on the bench opposite.

"I rowed as hard as I could. I guess it wasn't fast enough."

They both sat in silence for a time, avoiding each others eyes. The sound of Surad and Durus talking in low voices drifted through the doorway, but she was curious what they were saying. She didn't even particularly care what happened to the ring or Ferny. It was possible that he had frozen to death in some lonely corner somewhere, and would not be found for hundreds of years, like the Dark Lord's ring.

Her eyes were drawn to the altar. The carvings around the base had been methodically hacked away or smashed. The mural behind it was composed of many small ceramic tiles of various colors, almost all of which had been wrenched down or broken. It might have been the work of Angmar's horde, but it could just as easily have been the orcs under the sway of "Mrs. Bones", whoever that was. Perhaps she didn't exist, or was some kind of mythical character invoked by orc chieftains for power.

Even as she tried to distract herself with other thoughts, the kiss bubbled up to the top. Somehow she knew that it was on Elden's mind as well. They were both distracted, going through the motions in a coldly polite way all while pretending that nothing was different. But it was. A choice was starting to form in her mind. It had been becoming clearer ever since she met Elden, but until now it was still blurry and uncertain, something in the future. A bridge that might have to be crossed.

The brutal simplicity of the choice made her feel sick.

Either she would stay, or she would go. Immortality or... this incredible, insane feeling that was centered around the man sitting across from her.

Living in the fast-paced world of mortals these past few weeks, she had somehow imagined herself against the grindstone as well. With life going by so fast, these creatures seemed all too aware of the preciousness of every moment, an attitude that had already proved infectious to her. She had never lived so much in such a short amount of time. Already, her memories from other times had faded. They would never disappear, they were too much a part of her, but they seemed distant now. Quieter. The past was farther away, and so was the pain and the regret associated with it. Just distorted echoes, like the sound in this strange place.

"Where do you want to go next?"

"What?"

Nellas was jerked from her reverie.

"I said, where do you want to go next?" Elden repeated. "For better or worse, Ferny has gotten away. Durus and Surad have gotten their gold, and if they think they aren't likely to get more they wont stick around."

"I thought you were the one "calling the shots", as you put it."

Elden shrugged.

"At this point I don't really care. We have enough supplies to last us another two weeks, with the horses. It's up to you."

"What about Lorien?" Nellas said.

Elden looked at her curiously.

"Why, what's in Lorien?"

"I thought you said I could choose."

"So I did. Lorien it is."

The walls of Fornost receded steadily behind them. Their exit had been blessedly uneventful. None of them looked back. The old ruin was no longer an object of curiosity in their minds, just a place of death and decay.

Nellas watched Surad grip one of her knives between two fingers, demonstrating the grip to Elden, who was watching intently.

"You can do it with any blade, in theory, but the ones that tumble best are balanced specifically for throwing."

They arrived back at the small hill where their camp was hidden. Almost immediately, Nellas could tell that something was wrong. The humans could sense it too. Things were not as they left them. Elden's woodcutting axe was lying on the ground, surrounded by footprints. The horses seemed spooked, and were pacing nervously. The length of fabric that Elden had secured over the mouth of the shelter had been torn aside, as though someone was looking for packs to steal from. They had not found any. Surad went over to her horse and placed a hand on it's muzzle, calming us.

Nellas stepped forward nonchalantly, leaning her head down to Elden's ear and murmuring:

"I can see someone trying to hide from us. Act natural."

A second later, Elden saw it too. A shimmer. A ripple, as though of heat. A pair of rag-covered feet that left little indentations, creeping closer to them, step by step. Without warning, Nellas wrenched her sword from it's sheath and swung it horizontally in a wide sweep, pushing Elden out of the way with her left hand as she did so. For a split second the blade hissed through the air, finding nothing. Then, it found an obstacle. There was a terrible scream, and two things became visible. One was a severed hand which fell to the snow with a muffled thump. The other was Bill Ferny, clutching his stump and weeping.

Elden did not hesitate. He leaped forward and removed Ferny's head with a blazing stroke.

The body swayed, and then toppled over, head and all. In the deafening silence that followed, Elden searched around on the ground and located the severed hand. He bent down and slipped the ring off of it's previous owner's finger and wiped the blood on his trousers.

"Thanks for keeping it warm for me."

He inspected it again more closely, as though it might be damaged. It wasn't. Surad and Durus looked on wide-eyed.

"What?" He said. "I had to do it, he could have screamed and given away our position to the orcs. Then we would have to move the whole camp and find somewhere else to sleep."

Nellas didn't know whether to be relieved or not. A stroke of fate, and no mistake. Somehow, though, it didn't surprise her.

"I knew that ring was more than you were letting on." Durus said.

Elden went over to the corpse and rifled through it's pockets. He produced a nasty metal spike, a broken chain for a necklace and several coins. He hands the coins to Durus, little flecks of blood dripping down his face. The smile affixed to it looked just as deadly as any of his grimaces.

That night, Surad and Durus displayed an unusual generosity and offered to take first watch. Elden and Nellas were both too tired to argue, or be suspicious. It was cold and wet and dark, and all of them were getting pretty tired of the back-country.

The two Haradrim waited a few hours, and then moved far enough away so that even the elf could not hear them, should she decide to eavesdrop.

"What should we do now?" Durus said.

Most people who called themselves "men of the west" would never dream of asking a female companion for advice, but that was where the men of Far Harad had an advantage. Their women were raised to be just as clever, and just as forceful.

"We should stay one more day, but on the last night..."

She trailed off, a little spark of excitement illuminating her voice.

"On the last night what?"

She looked all around, and then leaned in very close and whispered:

"On the last night we kill them in their sleep and take the ring."