”Hellrien is here, sir!”
The seneschal held the door open to let Hellrien in.
Ranesora stood by the wall inspecting a map hanging on it, hands behind his back. Hellrien saw that it was the map of Evendim. When she was standing ten feet away from him, Ranesora turned around and gazed her from head to toe, looking particularly disapproving today.
”If you assumed I was going to allow you to lay in bed chugging ale all day long while Burwod, the fool, is getting himself and the others killed in Fornost you have another thing coming, Hellrien.”
Hellrien hadn't assumed anything like that, and she really hadn't been lazying about at all like Ranesora seemed to be suggesting. Burwod had taken most of the stronghold's forces with him to the rescue mission, but of course he couldn't have left the stronghold empty and unguarded. As much as Hellrien had wanted to go with them, Burwod had decided that Hellrien should remain in the stronghold.
It felt strange to be here with so many out there on the mission. The damp, dusty corridors felt eerily empty now, almost abandoned, and there was no shortage of duties for those who had stayed behind to keep guard. She had been sweating with the others in the training grounds, standing her watches and performing the many duties and services Ranesora, who had unofficially assumed command now with the absence of others, had instilled upon her.
Ranesora was shuffling through some official-looking documents. Hellrien realized at once that he had a mission for her. Her palms started itching.
”Something the Rangers of the North in Evendim have been struggling with for quite some time came in yesterday with these papers. It's a long report, and it looks like they are not getting anywhere with it, so they have asked me for assistance. However, I have plenty to do just keeping this stronghold up and running now that Burwod is getting everyone killed, and no time to spare for such trifling matters. You, on the other hand, could use some exercise and field-training, and it looks like a perfect little task for you to handle.”
Ranesora tapped the sheaf of papers with his index finger.
”They are calling the case 'Ernil'”, he added. ”Does that word mean anything to you?”
”It's a Sindarin word. It means a prince or a ruler, something like that.”
”Something like that”, said Ranesora. ”A man... or a person... who calls himself Ernil is operating throughout the region of Evendim, from the ancient ruins of Annúminas to Ost Forod in the north.”
Hellrien stretched herself up.
”This Ernil is a large-scale smuggler. From Evendim his merchandise will drift into various regions in Eriador. We have found items in Ered Luin, Shire, Bree, North Downs, Forochel and - we can only assume - in Angmar too.”
”And what is his merchandise?”
”Artefacts!” Ranesora rumbled. ”Jewels and trinkets and all kinds of treasures he has plundered from the tombs of my forefathers, to make fortunes out of Dúnedain heritage! The Rangers have suspected for some time that the tomb-robbers have their main base of operations somewhere in the area of Tyrn Fornech.”
Hellrien dug up her pipe and some pipeweed from the pocket of her cloak.
”A Dúnedain Ranger called Leo Hassett has been keeping an eye on the western shore of Tinnudir for some time”, Ranesora continued. ”He lied there in ambush every night, awaiting an opportunity to snatch one of the tomb-robbers alive. One night he went missing. He was supposed to report every morning to Calenglad, the local Ranger chieftain in Tinnudir. About a week ago he stopped reporting. They have been trying to track him, but there's no sign of him.
”We must assume the tomb-robbers got him. If they caught him alive - and if they can make him talk - the tomb-robbers will go into hiding. After a while they will start it again - in some other area, but in smaller scale. One look at the map shows there's plenty of hideouts around Lake Evendim and the islands in the lake itself. If Hassett doesn't talk before he is killed, the tomb-robbers will likely carry on like they have done so far.
”Ernil is most likely somewhere in Tyrn Fornech”, Ranesora said dryly. ”Near the coast of Evendim, where his raiders have easy access to the lake and the islands. We have only few vague leads, but that's something too. From Tinnudir the Rangers also found three dead corpses near the western shore - slain with a sword. In the same night a man from Ost Forod was killed during a brawl in the skirmish camp of Tinnudir. Before his death he mumbled something like: 'Ernil will take care of him' and 'from the gardens I can see his tomb'. Ranger Astiul heard it and remembered it - luckily. They did a background check and found out the man was a native of Ost Forod. His name was Stewart Sturn.”
”His tomb”, Hellrien mumbled. ”Who's tomb ... Ernil's?”
”Perhaps. It might have been mindless blabbering. But he said clearly that Ernil will take care of him. The Rangers of Tinnudir reckon that he was a scout for the tomb-robbers in Ost Forod who got killed in a typical brawl. Such incidents are not rare in that skirmish camp. And one more thing: out of anyone who knew him in Ost Forod nobody had any idea where he got his money from, but he never seemed to be short of it.
”The Rangers' investigation lead into a dead end after that”, Ranesora continued after a moment of silence, ”but we will pick up where they dropped it. You will pick it up, I mean. I think it would be an excellent idea for you to snoop around in that skirmish camp. Perhaps you'll stumble upon similar people as this Stewart Sturn over there. We can begin investigations in and around Ost Forod later. There's no need to rush in that direction.”
Hellrien was still thinking about the dying man's words. She nodded absent-mindedly to Ranesora.
”Is there other gardens in Evendim than those of Glinghant in Annúminas?” she asked.
Ranesora stared at her. ”That's a sensible question”, he muttered. ”I don't believe there is!”
They stood a moment in silence, both deep in thought.
”All right then.” Ranesora handed the papers over to Hellrien. ”Within a week you shall leave for Tinnudir. Familiarize yourself with this data. And go see the armourer. I think you have grown too fond of that big great-sword you're always carrying around with you. I can't have that. I have lost all hope you can ever become half-decent with a shield, but I have personally chosen two one-handed swords for you to use. Try to get acquainted with them before your departure. I will see you at the training grounds this afternoon to give you a quick lesson.”
Hellrien saluted. ”All right, sir.”
The armourer was a talkative, grey-haired man who greeted Hellrien enthusiastically.
”I came to pick up the swords Ranesora has put aside for me”, Hellrien said dryly. She glanced at the enormous collection of weapons and armors that consisted of all kinds of swords, spears, daggers, maces, lances, shields and armors. The wall was full of them. Four men were working by a forge and a workbench. The room smelled of oil and steel. Hellrien drew in a deep breath. She loved that smell.
”Alright. I have a form here. Put your name over there, Hellrien.”
As Hellrien was writing her name the armourer fetched a wooden box and opened it as if he was performing a sacred ritual. Hellrien couldn't but smile. The armourer took his work very seriously.
”Take your hat off! These are both from the Lone-Lands. This one belonged to Slade Ransford, a good friend of mine in Ost Guruth. Check out the masterful design of the blade and the hilt, have you ever seen anything as beautiful? And the other one, I'm not sure where it's from, it's more conservative in design but perfectly balanced. Both will cut through flesh like a knife sinks into butter!
”And these scabbard belts come with them”, the armorer continued. ”You can feel how the leather here is stiffer than usual - a lot stiffer. Only wax is used for them. Same goes for the scabbards. They only go down a few inches and the bottoms are open, so the blades are bare for the most part.”
Hellrien weighed the swords in her hands. They were lighter than what she had used to, but both were perfectly balanced. They were fine weapons. Hellrien expressed her opinion.
”You can't make them any better”, the armourer confirmed.
Next three hours Hellrien spent at the training grounds in what Ranesora had called a 'quick lesson'. When they were finished Hellrien was soaking wet with sweat and her every muscle was aching. The sound of metal clashing against metal was still ringing in her ears.
Ranesora would have never admitted it to Hellrien, but he thought more highly of her than he gave her credit for. Hellrien still had a lot to learn, but Ranesora couldn't remember how long it had been since he had last met somebody with the same natural disposition for swordplay. When Hellrien was wielding a sword, she didn't think of anything else. Her concentration was so perfect it was almost elating to teach her. There was that peculiar expression in her face when she was holding a sword, or two swords, or any other weapon. There was a true Ranger in the making.
”Tolerable”, he said out loud. ”Barely tolerable. You are clumsy like a drunken orc, but if that's the best you can do, I guess we have to settle for it. For now.”
