Written by Valandil
As his men broke camp, Eryndil stood off by himself, surveying what he could see of the sky in the growing light as the sun slowly rose.
Their journey so far had been a bit slower than he had hoped for - but the terrain was rugged. The first night his men had been fresh, and he had hoped for a full day's march through the night - and at least a half day's distance of four leagues. Yet they had only made between 2 and 3 leagues. Yesterday, another 5 or 6 - but if there were to be any pursuit, it could only begin today at the soonest - and would be a weak pursuit at that. So last night, when Ceruvar had brought forth his harp, Eryndil had not objected, as he had on the stops of the previous night.
And then had come the scream.
Eryndil's own men had huddled together in fear - he had even felt the fear himself. How could a man not, with the sound of that thing. They had spoken on for perhaps hours in hushed whispers - about things like "Mewlips" and "Vampires" and other such subjects of old tales almost forgotten.
This morning, all seemed well-rested and refreshed - even Callon and Caelen. But beneath it, everyone still seemed a bit tense and shaken up. Nonetheless, they should make better time today - and tomorrow should bring them to their intended destination.
A part of him still debated within himself his intended course of action - but no, it would be best. Especially after that scream. He could be sure to send his charges off to relative safety, while he tried to cover for them. He straightened up and called for Narwaith. When the man came, he drew him aside and spoke with him in hushed tones.
"Narwaith, I want you to take Callon and Caelen - and Gwaerod - on to Duinand. Choose three men, none from our thane-hold, save yourself. And take at least one of our two other "city boys". Go straight north all day today - then tomorrow straight for Duinand. Go to the Thane there and request a soldier's winter lodging for yourself, your men and claim these," he indicated the brother and sister, "as your servants."
"Further, do not mention my name - and take heed that you not be recognized - I think few enough in my father's household would know you. Understood?"
Narwaith nodded in acknowledgement.
"Good! I wish to play my father a little trick. But meanwhile, cover your tracks for the first league today, and the first half league tomorrow, when you change your direction to the northwest. The rest of us will backtrack to erase what little trace we've left on rocky paths - and to guard against pursuit - or else to lead it astray. We should join you within three days of your arrival there."
His plans discharged, Eryndil called the whole company together and announced, "We're splitting up."
---
Departing with seven of his men from Callon, Caelen, and the remainder of his men who would escort them to Duinand, Eryndil set his course due south, back-tracking their path from the previous day. He and his men took great care to leave no trace of their passing - and to disrupt whatever signs of their passage from the day before had been left behind, by man or by horse.
Eryndil doubted greatly that the men he had left behind would have the spirit to give chase - even if they managed to quickly find their weapons. Nor did he expect that Broggha would send troops after him - since he would essentially have a two-day start, with little or no trail to follow.
Still - he was a man inclined to take precautions, by nature and by profession. If he had taken greater precautions than necessary nine times - they might be needful and save his life on the tenth. There was no need to change that habit now.
So south they went, through most of the morning. At last they came to the place he had sought. Ahead of them, their former path went downward between two banks, or clefts, that rose on either side. He sent Norumar with two men to the left, while he took the other four with him to the right. The two parties advanced on - in sight of each other, but screened from view of the pass by the trees and the dropping off of the land. At last they came to the south end of the clefts, where they overlooked the approach to the south, side-by-side.
If there would be a pursuit, this would be the place to halt it - or at least to slow it. Both parties had a commanding view of the south, but they could remain concealed from below. Yet they could see, and signal to, one another. They were at least 30 rangar above the ground beneath them, and little more than half a furlong apart.
All below them was still, so the men settled in to rest and to wait. They drew forth provisions from their packs for a light lunch, and set turns to watch, while Ceruvar explored the drop toward the pass below them. If a message by word of mouth were required, it would fall to him to carry it, so he must choose his quickest path.
As they waited, the sky began to darken. Clouds had begun to form, and to thicken, turning a deep, dark grey. At last the clouds burst into a cold autumn rain.
Eryndil was elated. This would ruin any chance of them being tracked. He waited only long enough to ensure that the rain would hold out for a time. Then he signaled Norumar and his men to back-track to the north again, and to meet him where the path rose up to them - the place where they had separated just hours earlier.
By the time they all reached this spot, Eryndil had determined his next course of action. They would now turn northeast, rather than northwest to Duinand. There was an inn on the road about 2-3 leagues that way from here. False hints dropped there would satisfy the curious than "Taurenol" had gone back to the Ettenmoors for the winter - or to some other place. Feigned "carelessness" about the marks of their current route would further ensure this (so they took great care to leave deep tracks in what mud they could) - and divert attention from Duinand - their true eventual destination.
Besides - the inn was on the road east of last night's camp. He might find out more about that scream - since it seemed to come out of the east.
Camglas at Ostinand - October 8, 1347
Written by Valandil
Camglas stood looking out the window at the storm clouds that had gathered to the south. "Dark clouds over Rhudaur, sure enough," he thought to himself. For lately this subject had been much on his mind. Only thoughts of dark clouds besides the ones that only brought rain.
"Snow ... the next time," he said as he turned back to his work.
He was in a small room in the southeast corner of his old manor home, on the second storey above the ground. The harvest had come in all across his thane-hold, and his reeves had brought their reports from all the householders on his land.
Harvest-wise, it had been a good year. His own personal harvest would likely bring his entire household through the winter alright, with a bit to start them into spring. He might be able to settle up with cash from all the householders' shares that were his due - from those who had it. Cash would come in handy. Especially now that the crown exerted taxes on its Thanes - as if it did not have enough householders and personal property of its own! Besides - there was to be a new Count of Penmorva. And Camglas did not doubt that Broggha would find reason to invent new taxes to increase the burden on his thanes. And the King would back him too!
He sighed when he thought to what his noble house had come. They were more independent in days past. They were able to be generous. They were renowned patrons of the arts even - for their standing. And they were noble men, and great. Family tradition held that one of them had slain a troll!
And now what were they come to? Little more than over-burdened, broken-down farmers, Camglas thought, pinching pennies to pay the dues imposed by the King or greater nobles.
And... he wondered how long even this would last. At 160, he might have a few years left. But things were changing. Would his son even make it to 160? As Thane here? Rhudaur was not as it had once been. And it had never been Arnor. But - if unlike their predecessors of old, his eldest son Dornendur seemed fit enough to be a thane in this age - though his love of the table and the cup were a bit too strong.
This drew Camglas' thinking to other members of his family.
Yes... there were dark clouds over Rhudaur indeed.
Eryndil at The Three Goats Inn - evening, October 8, 1347
Written by Valandil
Eryndil and his seven companions had reached the inn just as the sun would have been setting - but they hadn't seen the sun since the rain had started, and the rain hadn't stopped yet, but had become a slow, steady, drizzle. The innkeeper had been glad to see them - few enough travelers on the road at this time, and he only had a few others. While he and his family prepared to serve the band of soldiers, the men warmed and dried themselves before a roaring fire at one end of the common room. There were a few locals present - stopping in for news or to chat before going on home. The innkeeper said that two small parties of merchants had stopped in, but they had not yet come out from their rooms.
As for news of the scream, the innkeeper had none - but they had heard it, sure enough, for it had woken all in the place and had chilled them to the bone. He learned too that a small delegation who seemed to hail from Angmar had passed through the evening before, but had stopped only to refresh themselves and their horses. Then they had pressed on northward rather than taking lodging - which the innkeeper thought odd (but an innkeeper would surely think so). This was a few hours before the scream came.
Dried off at last, the men gathered at a table placed just before the fire. Hot drinks were brought out for them, and they began to talk and to jest with one another, and this is some of what the other patrons heard:
"So, Dilion, would this be a right good place to spend the winter?"
"Indeed it would Lossion - but our rights to winter quarters extend to no inns. We would have to pay from our own pockets for it - and our purses would run dry ere the Yule!"
"It's a shame Varion," bellowed a large one. "For I think this innkeeper's daughter can't take her eyes off you!"
The men all laughed, as the subject of this speech blushed and scampered off from filling "Varion's" mug.
"Well Marion - you have sure scared her away now!" responded "Varion". "And so worthy of resting the eyes upon herself!" he added, with a wink to the girl, who now huddled near the entrance to the kitchen. Then turning back to "Dilion" he asked, "Do we still mean to make for a village in the lands east of Pennmorva for winter? Or shall we just make huts or a cabin in the woods to the southeast of that town?"
And on they talked of their purported plans, each one taking the end of the other's name and adding the "-ion" when addressing him. Food was now brought forth to them - roast fowl, boiled potatoes, carrots and cabbage, bread, butter and cheese - and they began to eat as they continued their converse.
At last, the one called "Throndion" spoke in a voice somewhat hushed, but still audible, "Have we still time to make huts against the winter cold, ...Taurenol?"
The men all froze in silence for a moment and then spoke in whispers that could not be heard, seeming to chastise the man who had spoken.
With a stern look upon his face, Eryndil laughed triumphantly to himself. Lothrond had played that to perfection. Soon all the wagging tongues would claim to know where "Taurenol" was headed for the winter. If any pursuit DID come this way, they might well be steared to the east or the southeast, while he and his men would return back northwest to Nandemar and Duinand.
It had come as a bit of a surprise to Eryndil, when men had begun to speak of him as "Taurenol" - not knowing even who it was that the name belonged to. Only that he brought the King's Justice at times of despair and then melted into the wilds without a trace. The common people loved him, although it was mixed with some fear and apprehension. So - he had "owned" the name - and while his men all knew him as "Eryndil" - few, perhaps none other, knew that he and "Taurenol" were one and the same. Thus he was "Eryndil" to his men when none were about, and "Taurenol" when others were present - if they wished to make themselves known as 'Taurenol's Band'.
Nimloss, across the table from him, was looking him in the eye as if trying to get his attention and gestured slightly toward the corner of the room over Eryndil's shoulder, even as he tried to keep his face somewhat shaded by his hood. Eryndil turned that direction, calling for more drink for his cup.
There at a small table to one side of the fireplace, he saw that a merchant had come down with his lady. Only wait... that was truly no merchant. It was his brother Vilyandur! And "his lady" was their own sister Gildurien!
Vilyandur's eyes met his own.
The evening continued - but later, as each party broke up for the night, Eryndil discretely passed over by Vilyandur, who had just sent Gildurien off, and whispered so that none other could hear.
"Well met, my brother. What takes you out on the road at this time?"
"I return home, brother - from whence I shall not say. But one can keep my secrets who has secrets of his own to keep, yes, 'Taurenol'?"
And with a wry smile, Vilyandur turned to the small stairway and went aloft to his rooms.