♦
This story continues from Part VII: The Invaders.
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The pack of Gauredain emerged from the mist at the base of the hill, and advanced towards Till and her frail company where they stood, blocking the entrance to Ost Forod, in slow and silent menace. There were five of them: mostly naked - revealing their huge, ruddy bodies, painted with strange colours - save that each wore a complete wolf pelt over his head and shoulders; and thick furs around their loins, hands and and feet.
On Till’s left side, she felt Kane tense. His shield came up slightly as he adjusted his grip. His axe stayed in his belt.
“Just give the order, Till”, he murmured - barely moving his lips, as though he feared being overheard.
Till said nothing. She felt intensely vulnerable with her left arm in a sling - she wished she had taken it off - but she did her best not to show it. She stood front and centre, with Kane on one side and her mother on the other. None of them drew their weapons. But if the Wolfmen did not understand this gesture of parlay, they were so densely packed in the narrow cleft that they risked getting in each other’s way.
The horn of Ost Forod continued to ring behind them, interspersed with Magde’s voice, hoarse from shouting. Aside from Tanner and Fingeleth, a number of the townsfolk had started to gather behind them, armed with whatever they could lay their hands on - pitchforks, clubs, the odd hunting bow. Till had no desire to get into a fight, not in the state they were in at the moment - but she needed their numbers: a show of strength.
When they were within reasonable earshot, Till called out in Westron in the most commanding voice she could muster:
“Who goes there? State your business!”
The Wolfmen paused for a moment. The leader seemed to confer with the others. Then they began to come forward again - just as slowly and silently as before. Soon they were within twenty yards.
“Till…” hissed Kane.
The pack halted; and their leader stepped forward alone. The Wolfmen had a strange lumbering gait - stooped over, as if their shoulders were too heavy for them - but when he stood upright, he was nearly twice Till’s height.
Till stood her ground. Kane’s hand itched on his axe-haft. Rienne stood on her daughter’s other side, her right - planning and visualising which of the wolfman’s exposed arteries she would slash open if he made any sudden movement.
When the wolfman spoke, his voice was like a bucket of gravel, pouring into the lake.
“Who. Leader.”
He gestured at them, gruffly, abruptly. Rienne tensed, almost drawing her sword. Till almost flinched.
“He’s not here,” she replied. Her voice wavered in her own ears. She tried to sound sterner.
“We have not seen your kind in these parts. What are you doing here? What do you want?”
Till kept her gaze firmly on the pack leader. Magde’s hornblowing had ceased. She had no idea how many townsfolk had gathered behind her in the cleft. She prayed it was a lot.
With another sudden, unstable gesture, the pack leader swung his arm wildly behind him, pointing down the hill.
“You Men… slayers! My kinsfolk.”
He beat his chest on these last two words. Rienne thought she could hear a sob in his throat. After a moment, Till spoke again.
“Your kinsman hunted and threatened my people. Tried to slay two of my kinsfolk - right here, in sight of this town.”
The pack leader growled, shaking his head as though there were a bee buzzing round it.
“No, no, Dark Girl! There is pack law. Blood price, Little Men must pay.”
Till felt a shiver down her spine. The pack leader went on.
“Blood price mean Little Men give murderer to pack. Blood price. Mean blood for blood.”
Till’s blood ran cold. But she steeled herself - and heard herself say, with surprising certainty:
“There has been no murder here. Your kinsman was slain while trying to kill me - it was self-defence. We have done nothing wrong… there has been no murder; so there is no murderer.”
The pack leader shook his head, acting as though he had not heard her.
“Blood price, yes. You Men pay. You no pay… Pack hunt all you… Little Men. Ah, great hunt! Fighter. Child. Old, no-tooth crone.” The pack leader grinned, showing pointed, yellow fangs. “Great pack feast! Much better than goblin...”
Till just stood there, her arm in a sling, praying she wasn’t making a horrific mistake. She heard herself speak again, with a calm authority she did not feel:
“Your kinsman was slain to prevent him from committing a grave crime. Justice has been done; and we must all put it behind us. Now… we ask you to leave our lands, and return whence you came.”
The pack leader leered at Till. There was no respect in his eyes - certainly no fear. And perhaps strangest of all… there also seemed to be no rage. That had been the emotion Till had most expected from these beast-people. Perhaps the slain Wolfman had not been such close kin after all.
The leader spat on the ground.
“Blood price”, he repeated. “Little Men pay. Give murderer. Is pack law. Blood for blood.”
He lumbered a few paces closer - until Till could smell his rotten breath, and the reek of sweat off his body - could almost feel his heat. His pale yellow eyes bored into hers.
Kane’s knuckles went white on his axe haft. Rienne drew her sword-blade one inch out of its sheath.
“Little Men no pay; Little Men all die. Dark Girl friends first.”
Till did not flinch. She would not show weakness now. If he hurt her, so be it. She felt instinctively that she owed it to her community to stand up to him - to make a stand for all of them. She let out a slow, steady breath.
“You dare come here… to the very threshold of our home… and make threats.”
She spoke low and quietly - those nearest to her could hear; but of the Wolfmen, who were stood further back, it was for the pack leader’s ears only.
“You are making a mistake. If you and your pack do not leave these lands, it will go ill for you. This is your only warning.”
The pack leader stared into her eyes for a moment longer. Then he reared up - and roared with laughter.
The townsfolk watched in surprise. The pack laughed with their leader.
“No, no, Dark Girl… me think is you who make a mistake!”
Showing how little fear he had for any of them, still laughing, the pack leader turned his back on her and, with deliberate slowness, ambled back down the hill the few paces to rejoin his pack.
“Three days, Dark Girl… three days! Little Men pay blood price. If no… we bring whole pack. Pack hunt them all… and feast on their bones!”
Still laughing and howling, the Wolfmen turned away from them. As they lumbered away back down the hill, once or twice one of them turned back, racing a few dozen paces towards them to see if they scared - then at the last minute doubling back, and rejoining the others.
Before long, they had disappeared once more into the mist.
♦
They tripled the watch on the road. It wasn’t just the usual militia crew any more - Till, Kane, Tanner and Magde had all the help they needed now. The northern gateway into the city, where the parlay had been held, was barricaded that very day. Folk began to talk of filling gaps in the walls with fallen masonry, with no prompting. The people of Ost Forod feared for their lives. Where was Basil, everyone seemed to be muttering. Where was the Arbiter when they needed him? That fishing expedition would have to be cut short. It was going to be all hands on deck.
Till was swept off her feet. She was by no means the head of the militia, or anything else - but she had always been well-regarded; and she had been decisive, stern, calm, and in the right place at the right time… or the wrong place. Suddenly half the town was deferring to her and seeking her opinion. Yes, filling that gap was a good idea. Yes, a rider should go to fetch Basil and the others back immediately. No, no one should go after the Wolfmen and try to ambush them in the forest. Yes, Tanner and Reese had got a glimpse of the rest of the pack - they seemed to have made their encampment up in Tum Fuin. No, they could not be certain how many there were.
There were spears to turn, arrowheads to forge, hunters to summon home to safety, stores to be brought in, defences to be readied. But when she finally got a moment to herself, Till sought out Fingeleth.
She found her at Rienne’s, helping to sort medicines and prepare poultices. Till pulled her aside. Fingeleth started to ask how she was, if there was anything else she could do to help, but Till cut her off.
“There’s something I need you to do for me. For all of us. And I must ask you not to argue.”
Fingeleth looked at her with something like devotion.
“What do you need?”
Till didn’t meet her eyes immediately.
“I want you to leave Evendim…”
Fingeleth was already objecting, but Till talked over her.
“... and go and get help.”
Fingeleth opened her mouth again - and then closed it. Till continued in a quieter voice.
“You heard Tanner’s report… there could be as many as fifty Gauredain in Tum Fuin. Even if Basil returns - we have nothing like that number of trained fighters.
“We need help. The Rangers are supposed to be our allies - but there are so few of them left, and most are still under siege in Annúminas.”
Till sighed - a wave of weariness had swept over her. With her good arm she leaned against the wall. For the first time since that morning Fingeleth saw the strain in her face.
“... we need help,” she repeated. “We might have turned to the Icemen of Kauppa-Kohta - but it is too dangerous, with the Wolfmen surrounding the Cirith Rhiw. So we must look south, and west… but few of us know those lands. But… but you…”
It was as if their positions were suddenly reversed. Till’s dark eyes had lost all their usual intensity, all their secrecy. With a shiver, Fingeleth recognised her desperation - almost dependency. Till was staring at Fingeleth as though she was Ost Forod’s last hope.
Fingeleth laid it out for her.
“You need someone who knows the lands to the South to go and find… help. Sellswords. Volunteers. Something like that… and you know I have just come from there. You think I am your best chance.”
Till nodded several times. If Fingeleth hadn’t known better she might have thought Till was close to tears. But when she spoke again her voice was calm and level.
“Is there anyone you can think of?”
Suddenly, Fingeleth knew exactly what to do.
“... I might just.”
Till nodded… and backed away. Her meaning was obvious. There was nothing more that needed to be said - and no time to lose.
“Ride safe and swiftly, Fingeleth of Gondor.”
Fingeleth nodded - and on impulse, embraced her tightly.
“I’ll come back, Till. I promise.” She hardly knew what she was saying. She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to cry.
“Don’t lose hope.”
♦
Fingeleth gathered up her things - it didn’t take long - and headed for the stableyard, where the horse she had rented from the Rangers was still waiting.
There was just one other person she knew she had to see before she left but as luck would have it, he found her first. Kane must have seen her with her pack on as she crossed town.
“Fingeleth! You’re not - surely you’re not…?”
He had pushed his way over to her, his broad shoulders carving through the crowd like a ship’s prow, and she embraced him. “Kane… I have to.”
He pushed her away - held her at arm’s length, hurt and confused. It was getting harder to hold back the tears. She tried to explain.
“Kane… I’m going to get help. I have to. Till asked me to.”
It only took him a moment. Then he understood. He pulled her in close again, hugging her tight.
“I don’t want you to go,” he whispered in her ear.
She didn’t know what to say. Her reply was just to hug him back as tightly as she could. With every heartbeat, she could feel precious time slipping by. But just for a moment, she needed this. Needed him.
“I have to,” she whispered back.
“... I know. I know.”
With a final squeeze, they stood apart. Kane helped her onto her horse. Checked the saddlestraps, made sure all her bags were securely fastened.
She was ready to go. Kane gazed up at her astride the grey mare - and felt a sudden desperation to engrave her image on his memory forever. The wind tossed her sleek dark hair across her worried face, and he didn’t think he had ever seen anything more beautiful in his life.
For a moment he couldn’t speak. Eventually he managed to choke out:
“... be safe. Come back soon.”
She bent down, and kissed him on the mouth. She registered his surprise - and then his warm response. His lips on hers. His hands in her hair - just for a moment.
Then she spurred her horse, tearing herself away. He let her go - reluctantly - lingeringly - followed her for a couple of steps, his arm outstretched; and she looked back, wondering if she would ever see him again.
He raised his hand in farewell, and she raised hers.
Then she turned away again to face the road - leaving Ost Forod to fend for itself.
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To be continued?
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