Estarfin nodded as the houses behind him went up in flames. The village of dry wood would burn until nothing was left but a pile of ashes, and perhaps a poisonous haze.
They were all tired. It was no surprise. Traveling unknown ways, often in very poor light, with echos bouncing off distant walls, the smell of decay assaulting them, short bouts of fighting…and all the time watching and listening for enemies. It would make anyone tired. But they were each warriors in their own way, with their own experiences. None would give up or turn back.
They did, however, need water and a little food. So did their horses.
The fires in the village behind them lit the sky and turned it orange, so they did not notice the change from a grey to a red sky, streaked with sickly green, as they normally would have. One moment it was silent, apart from the wind whipping up small rocks and dry bushes and tossing them about. The next, distant howls of anguish and that far off muttering was about them.
Estarfin slumped against a high rock wall, scowling as he slowly slid down to sit on the ground. He managed to hold out a hand, and Norlomë moved to nuzzle it reassuringly and seek some food.
“We take a short rest,” Yrill said, thinking that the old Noldo did not plan on going any further, at least for a short time. Estarfin usually drove them forward. He would not halt unless it was needful.
Culufinnel nodded agreement. The Captain found a small incline on the opposite side of what passed as a path, and settled himself down. He took up his water skin and had a few sips, then poured some in his palm for his horse to drink. “We must be sparing with the water, Cloud-born,” he told her.
“I have never been further into Angmar than this,” Yrill said, sinking down not far from Estarfin. “A bit further north, yes. There are several more villages and a few small fortresses. But not East, not the way we must now head.”
She also took up her water skin for herself and her mare. It would have been bliss to pour the water over her hair and face, but the Captain was right. She dare not waste any.
“An hour’s rest. No more,” said Estarfin, laying his head back against the hard rock. He sighed as the flicker from the fires some distance behind them waned and began to diminish, having exhausted all flammable material. “This is an evil place. Would that we could burn it all away.” He took a single apple out his bag and offered it to Norlomë.
“Our food is low; we dare not hunt for game. Who can tell what the few animals hereabouts drink - or eat,” said Culufinnel.
“Why did any choose to live here?” Estarfin closed his eyes momentarily, his shoulders sinking slightly against the rock. His spear lay beside him, his shield was still attached to the saddle.
“They must have been drawn to evil, or perhaps the place changed over time.” It was an unusually insightful comment from Culufinnel.
Yrill nodded thoughtfully. “Possibly the latter? It is important to remember not to eat anything nor drink any water from here forward. Neither allow the horses to do so. I think they will shy away from poison, but in case any do not -”
Suddenly Estarfin sat upright as if taken by the notion he was hungry, and rummaged through his bag for any food left. There was none. He looked disappointed. Then he turned to his water skin, offering his mare a welcome palmful.
“I kept what I offered you nigh the drakes, Lord Estarfin. I have six apples, four large chunks of cheese and six lembas left, and a skin and a half of water.” Leaning closer, Yrill held out another apple, a piece of cheese and a piece of Lembas to Estarfin.
“I have a few dried portions of meat and some fruit,” said Culufinnel. “And two skins of water.”
Yrill offered a piece of lembas to him as well. “The rest is for Lady Danel and Lord Parnard.”
It will not be enough, thought Culufinnel, but said nothing as he took the wafer. Once he had seen Parnard eat an entire roast boar, a half a pound of cheese and five gooseberry pies during the Feast of Starlight. He broke off a corner and wrapped up the remaining portion again to save for later.
Estarfin took what was offered him with a nod of thanks, but carefully stowed it away in his bag. He closed his eyes again.
It was a short rest. In less than half an hour they were mounted and heading out onto the salt flats. There was no mistake about the sky above. It was a dull red, with sickly green (similar to the colour of the poison in the giant cauldron) streaking through it.
‘How have they managed to poison the sky?’ Yrill thought.
Ahead lay a series of jagged black mountains. No pass was visible from where they watched. The flats themselves were broken up in places by the white ‘bones’ of long dead trees. No life thereabouts save a few swamp flies hovering over still, scum-laden water. Below the surface, slow moving, bloated leeches floated. In the distance there were a few drakes hunting for food. Their horses snorted and stamped their hooves.
“We move on,” Estarfin urged Norlomë forward into a canter. They needed to catch up to the kidnappers, but they needed to watch their path.
“This is beyond my scouting,” Yrill reminded them “Stay as much on the hardened sand and gravel path as you can. There may be quicksand. There may be a detachment of orcs hiding behind any hill.”
Neither of the neri looked perturbed. Things were as they were. They were going forward, encouraged by the occasional sighting of hoofprints of a few horses.
“Ahead!” the Captain pointed, narrowing his eyes against the strange light. “There, behind that cleft in the mountains, a tower lies beyond.”
In the distance, to the East, they could just make out more twisted statues. They were too far for any of the Elves to sense their emanating oppression.
“There is a Dwarven encampment in that direction, and some free tribes of Hillmen. They are likely wards against them entering this region,” the Huntress informed the others, as she swatted away a swamp fly with a blade.
After another ten minutes of riding they could clearly see the opening in the rocks and its ruined gateway. There were other Arnorian looking ruins, of a once proud fortress, and several more of the wood and plaster houses. They did not see anyone.
“They are there,” Estarfin insisted, not changing Norlomë’s pace, though she flicked her ears once.
“Be careful, they still have our folk, and may not hesitate to kill them.” Yrill reminded them.
“They want them alive, else their own lives will be forfeit,” she heard the old Noldo whisper in the weird greenish halflight. No stars, sun, or moon shone, for here the Enemy had the ability to shut out Elbereth’s light.
Then there was no longer a need to guess where the men hid themselves.
“So, yer got this far,” a single brigand called out from behind the rubble of a fallen stone tower. “Me men have arrows trained on yer, Huntress. Yer won’t be going any further. Daviion, Elf Slayer,” the man moved forward a few paces and bowed mockingly as he introduced himself. “Yer little missy didn't have time to beg for her life. I was in a hurry. But she died squealing and thrashing like a pig when I turned the blade.” He grinned, showing a few remaining teeth.
The old Noldo dismounted, slowly and deliberately, taking up shield and spear and strode towards Daviion.
Yrill nocked an arrow, regardless of the warning from Daviion, and shot down one of those who was supposed to have his arrow trained on her. She nocked another, searching for any further bowmen.
“I remember yer, Dark Elf.” A second man, with carrot-colored hair in that light, stepped forward. “We will have yer this time, no matter what that Magan says.” He gave a shrill whistle.
Estarfin said nothing to this challenge, only raising his shield.
Then a score of goblins poured out from the ruins. They were goblins of the lesser sort, armed with small swords and axes. A few had shields. Like a pack of rats they swarmed over the stones towards the Noldo. He swatted them aside as mere nuisances.
Culufinnel yelled out a battle cry and sprang forward, spear and shield raised.
Yrill focused her attention and began picking off the goblins. Her true interest was in picking off the men who had wrought such harm upon her friends, but she knew where she could best help. And she wanted justice for Aearlinn whatever way it came.
“Get em lads,” cheered Daviion, who kept to the back of the mob. Then his expression changed as Estarfin, ignoring the goblins, drew closer.
A third man appeared from behind the gate. His hair was pale as straw, his spear looked well-forged, and he even had a steel breastplate on. He headed for Estarfin with a marked limp to his step.
Focusing on the swift moving Goblins, Yrill knew the Noldo and the Captain of Celondim could easily best these three Men. There was a whirl of blades and a sound of metal clashing against shields; Estarfin barreled into Daviion, knocking him flat on his back, then faced down the more skilled fair-haired Rohir. It could never have been an even match, even if the Man were not injured, but at least he had courage.
The Rohir lunged first, but Estarfin parried it with ease, then slammed his shield into the Man with his full weight behind it. Although he stumbled back, the man remained on his feet, though the impact seemed to stun him, and he was slow at bringing up his sword again to counterattack - too slow. The Noldo reached out, and grabbing at the man's forearm, wrenched it backward, snapping his arm at the shoulder and driving him to his knees. Daviion darted in, intending to stab Estarfin in the back, but Estarfin, hearing the sudden footsteps behind, twisted around and kicked him hard in the chest with his boot. Daviion made no sound as he fell, his sternum crushed.
“By Bema, you can fight,” the Rohir gasped out. “Finish me, Elf.”
Estarfin obliged by driving his spear through his chest, then ripped it out and turned to face Daviion. The man was trying to squirm away unnoticed. He drove his spear through his splayed-out hand, pinning him to the ground. He would take his time to kill this man.
Seeing his comrades wounded or dead, and that many of the cowardly goblins had fled in fear, Carrot-top swung his sword in a desperate swipe. Culufinnel easily avoided the attack, then with a series of rapid strikes disarmed the brigand and sent him sprawling into the dust, headless.
There was no sound other than Daviion's labored breathing and the wind moaning through the stones, tossing tumbleweeds up. Then the flies, scenting blood, filled the air with their buzzing as they swarmed over the corpses.
Yrill walked towards the trapped man. Both her knives were drawn. “You are the one who murdered Aearlinn,” she said. “You drove a sword through her back like the coward you are.” She bared her teeth as she glared down at the man. He mustered enough saliva in his mouth to spit at her, though his face was grey and contorted in pain.
Then he turned as much as he could to Estarfin, “Surrender,” he muttered with struggling breath. “I surrender.”
Culufinnel shook blood from his spear. “We could seek information from him, in return for his life,” he suggested in Sindarin.
“No. Why accept a surrender?” Estarfin answered. “We can follow the trail from here. There is nothing to learn from him.” He pulled his great spear out of the man’s maimed hand and marked how the blood spurted out.
A bowstring twanged and its arrow whistled close to Yrill’s head. Her swift instincts barely saved her.
Estarfin and Culufinnel turned to see yet another man, this one an unnaturally tall and burly looking Breelander, armed with a longbow and two swords.
“Bless yer, Barkworth,” shouted Daviion, as he crawled to his feet and tried to shuffle away. Culufinnel punched him in the back of the head, and he fell down again.
“Jexson will be here any minute,” said the newcomer. “Him and them others will sort yer out!”
To give him his due, Barkworth was another of the braver sort, like the Rohir. He raised his large shield as he saw Yrill take up her bow, and charged.
Culufinnel whipped the point of his spear at Daviions throat, and kicked him back down, then joined Estarfin in meeting the charge. Yrill kept up the firing until she ran out of arrows. She momentarily looked away to retrieve some from the already fallen, and Daviion took the opportunity to run onto the salt flats, one hand gripping the other to staunch the bleeding.
“Yrill, is that bow for show only?” Estarfin called back loudly from his engagement with the last man.
The Huntress needed no further prompting. She took careful, measured aim, then shot her arrow into Daviion’s fleeing back.
She need not fire a second shot. Certainly Daviion the worm was dead, and if he was not, the drakes and leeches would soon finish him. She turned back to see if her two companions needed aid. As if they would! With both Elven warriors upon him, Barkwood stood no chance. Culufinnel rammed his spear into the back of the man's knees, then pressed the spearpoint against his neck.
“Where are they being taken? What are they wanted for?” he demanded.
“The Umbari…keep them safe.” Barkwood managed to say. “Nearly there. She wants them...”
Estarfin had heard enough. He put his spear point between the joints in the leather armor, and thrust down hard, driving it into the man’s heart. “No more questions,” he said as he withdrew the dripping spear. “The tracks are clear. Any who hold Danel and Parnard captive shall pay a very high price.”
Taking only a few minutes for Yrill to retrieve arrows, to check that the horses were unharmed, to take up waterskins from the fallen, and to note that Daviion’s body lay still where it fell, the three Elves travelled on.
